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“He'll notice!” the young lady (a rather lovely technician) seems horrified.
“He won't.” comes the swift contradiction from the field agent. “003 is knee-deep in japanese blood, so to speak, and Q is going to be quite busy for a while with the clean-up.”
“But...” her worried look is again fixed over the cup of tea, where the tall man is stirring a couple more teaspoons of sugar and just a tad more milk than usual.
“Listen, just give it to him, ok?” he huffs tiredly. “Without words, possibly.” he adds, because the girl is a picture of the Perfect Suspect, and even if the Quartermaster has a handful of dead bodies to take care of, he is also a damn observant genius.
“You are going to take the blame if he notices.” she warns.
“And what is this if not a wonderful display of loyalty between co-workers...”
“You can't be fired, I do. So excuse-me if I don't fancy taking stupid risks just for the sake of his blood-sugar levels...”
Alec is two words away from punching her, but then he remembers something his mother said once about ladies being delicate flowers and all that crap and decides to behave. Of course his decision has nothing to do with the murderous glance a small group of other minions throws in her direction, nossir, he most definitely isn't that petty, and he certainly doesn't rely on their ability to spread the word about what just happened.
Sometimes Alec wonders what would happen to Q-branch should MI6 decide to change Quartemaster... but then again, the minions would probably just take over the world (with some not-so-subtle help from the double-oh section) and declare Q Supreme Overlord, which in his book is just fine. Q is already his boss anyway.
“Are you even listening to what I'm saying?!” comes the irate question from the girl in front of him.
“Nope.” he answer honestly. “I make a point to never argue with idiots: they just bring you down on their level and beat you with experience.” That said, the deadly man scoops up the tea and moves towards Q's office.
“George Carlin. Nice.” R's tone is sincerely appreciative. “Don't mind the lady, she's new... she'll learn or she'll move to Human Resources.” She comments matter-of-factly. Then she eyes the man before her and she makes a decision. “Give me that cup, I'll bring it to him. He would get suspicious seeing you.”
“You are a godsend, R, you know that?”
“Of course, darling.”
Alec awaits almost hidden in a corner of the room for another couple of minutes, just enough to know that Q is actually drinking his tea and is not complaining about it. Then, seemingly satisfied, decides to pay a visit to R&D, just to make sure that the beautiful new sniper rifle he saw the other day doesn't need any further testing.
_____________
Bill has always been atypical for a double-oh.
For one, he always brings his equipment back (most of the time, still in working order!).
Also, he doesn't seem to need to fuck his way out of every single mission.
When he is on mandatory leave, he mostly spends his time on MI6 ground, in the range or at the gym.
And last but not least, he always redacts his reports right after the mission.
The neatness all around him and his behaviour is the only reason Q accepts food gifts by the man -otherwise he has a rule: never ever take food from a double-oh. Ever. He also made a nice, colorful poster out of it, and he affixed it on a wall inside his branch, between the “Do Not Bring In Any Apple Device, Ever” sign and the “Do Not Even Think About Making A Move On The Quartermaster, Ever” one: the latter was actually written by 007 after a particularly bold minion asked the young man out for drinks once, but it has been taken into serious consideration ever since. The minion still works in Accounting.
So when Bill (001) saunters into Q-branch a couple of hours after landing, mostly unscratched from his mission in Belgium, with two nicely wrapped packages, nobody is particularly surprised.
“Here, Q, I heard you like chocolate.” he smiles congenially to the other man, handing him one of the boxes.
“I love it, especially the good quality type. Thank you, 001.”
“I'm off-mission, Q! You can call me Bill inside HQ, everybody does...”
Q knows that between the agent being straight as a ruler (that is, as straight as you can be as a double-oh) and the recipient of the other gift box, 007 probably won't try to cut the fellow agent's head off. Still, he doesn't feel like pushing his luck. “Have a nice day, William. She is in the bullpen as usual.” he smiles apologetically.
Bill winks back and honest to God dances towards R, hoping to snatch a dinner date from her this time. There actually is a betting pool about when is she finally going to give in -there is only so much delicate but persistent wooing a lady can resist to, in the end.
Q unwraps his box and is delighted to find some of his all-time favourites inside. He privately believes R is resisting the man's charm just to get more food gifts out of it. Lucky lady... he sighs distractedly while popping the first chocolate in his mouth.
_____________
“And that was the exact moment the Yakuza guy entered the room! I had no choice but shot him my very last bullet. He dodged, but he wasn't quick enough: I got him on his right leg. After that, we had a nice long chat...”
Q smirks from over his bowl and takes another mouthful of soup. “'A nice, long chat'. That's an interesting way of calling it.”
The girl's from the other side of the table smiles brightly, like she's talking about her child's first step. Luckily for everyone possibly involved, Mary (003) is sterile. “You really had to see it, Q! Blood and gore everywhere, and the guy still didn't want to talk! One thing I'll say for the japaneses, they are well-trained.”
Q nods in agreement. “Effective lot, that they are. Not exactly loyal, but still...”
Mary huffs and dismisses the whole thing with a shrug. “Fear works just as well.”
“Changing the subject, this misoshiru is amazing! Where did you learn to cook it this well?”
“I know a guy...” chirps the woman noncommittally, obviously pleased with the compliment. “But this is just the starter... we, my friend” at this she leans over the table with an air of conspiracy, “are going to have kobe beef tonight.”
Q's mouth waters. Last week has been exhausting, what with Bond being forcibly off grid in Cuba and the daily folly that is being the youngest MI6 Quartermaster in history: the idea of delicious meat perfectly cooked (because, let's face it, 003 may be a tiny little bit of a high-functioning sociopath, but she is an excellent chef...) sounds almost too good to be true.
“Of course, if you have other plans...”
Q thinks about the loads of paperwork he scheduled for that evening at the beginning of the month and smiles beatifically. “You have my utmost attention, dear. Please, keep telling me about your mission...”
_____________
The moment he lands he is on the phone.
The first thing he receives is a text:
The finest pralines from Godiva and some hideous french biscuits described as “trés onctueux”. The minions confirm that nothing's left. - Bill
He exhales deeply and moves to the next name on his list: the woman is usually quite trustworthy on this front, but he needs to make sure everything went as planned.
“You really are quite the overprotective lover...” she teases him when she picks up.
“Tell me you went to see him yesterday just as I asked you.” he greets in return.
“Of course I did, miso soup and kobe beef, by the way. We drank sake and we laughed at the sorry excuse that is japanese cyber security.”
Where the hell did you get the kobe?, is the first thing he wants to say, but he thinks better of it. “Thank you, Mary.” Bond sigh is heartfelt, more than he would like to admit, but they both ignore it because they are friends and colleagues, and Mary really likes Bond in her own twisted way. “I owe you.”
“Don't mention it.” She means it. For everything you can say about her, she is quite the generous type. “How was Cuba?”
“Hot. Sultry. Boring. Something blew up. Someone died. How was Japan?”
“Same old, same old. Mariko says hi.”
“Not to me, I'd hope.”
“Well, no, I'm not sure she even knows you didn't die that one time in Osaka, but I figured you might want to know the bitch's still alive. Again. I swear, sometimes it feels like we do nothing but kill the same people over and over again... it makes the game kind of boring, to be honest.”
“Did you sleep with her?”
“Of course I did, Bond, she's a beauty.”
He chuckles. “I'm almost at HQ. See you soon?”
“Guess so. Bye!”
It is way past the usual working hours, but once MI6 employs you, you kind of give up your “real life”. Today, he knows for a fact that the execs are having A Very Serious Meeting with the budget review committee, because Q bitched over it for days before his departure, and that means M is still in the building. If M is here, Moneypenny's too, and that only means one thing...
“I knew you'd be here.” he greets his oldest friend with a smile when he finds him (as expected) at the range with what looks like a new shiny toy.
“Back so soon? Was Cuba that bad?” Alec's smile is all teeth, mainly because he knows all too well why Bond is so eager to come home from missions these days.
“Never been one of my favourites.” he dismisses the whole issue, lying blatantly.
Alec lets this one go, because that's what BFFs do for each other. At least, that is what Paris Hilton said once on the telly, and the lesson stuck with him (he's not really sure what that second F stands for, though). If M only knew that to make him listen to orders would be enough to just make Moneypenny give them wearing a very small bikini... well, that probably wouldn't change anything. Aside from the fact that he would get his testes kicked. A lot. On a daily basis. With high heels.
“You still with me?” Bond sounds perplexed.
“Thinking about my testes.” he honestly replies, but the look on Bond's face makes it clear that maybe he should have circumstantiated a bit. Then again, Eve's collection of alarmingly pointy stilettos is quite a disturbing thought per se, and maybe he shouldn't delve in it that much.
“Whatever...” is his friend dubious comment. Frankly unhelpful, in Alec's opinion. “Did you do what I asked you?”
“Of course I did. I added sugar and milk to his tea for the whole duration of your mission. On one memorable occasion, I made him eat toast.” he smiles proudly, then he adds, as if on a second thought, “Well, when I say 'eat'... it's more like 'nibble'.” he nods vigorously at that, then he stops again. “Weeell... when I say 'nibble'... I kind of forced him. He may or may not have been asleep.”
Bond groans and resolves on taking what he can get. “Thank you, Alec.” he offers with a smile.
His friend just waves him, again lost in his thoughts. James decides to go get his lover out of a indoubtedly tedious meeting.
_____________
Q has rarely been this angry.
With all the patience and indurance skills he developed from months of working closely with stubborn double-oh, clumsy minions and too-excitable bookworms from R&D, the budget review committee is still able to make him loose it in about an hour.
“How can you not see the importance of this?” he asks barely managing to keep his volume at bay. “Better tech is ALWAYS a necessity. It means better intel, safer conditions, faster results. Ultimately, better tech means more alive agents. And despite what you seem to believe, 'double-oh' doesn't mean 'expendable'. Why not sending them out in the field with just a red t-shirt, since we are at it?!”
Sadly nobody gets the reference, and that makes Q even angrier.
“If I may...”
The man who's asking to speak wears a lab coat, but since Q doesn't recognise him, he must be from Medical. Which would be quite ok, they do need perfectly equipped med teams, until the man actually talks.
“Q, am I correct when I say you have a... 'personal interest' in getting fundings for all this new projects?”
Q narrows his eyes but says nothing. M already knows this is not going to end well and just resigns to the inevitable explosion approaching. Moneypenny studiously avoids eye-contact with anybody, apparently too engrossed in her nail art. Tanner wonders why he never listened to his mother when she tried to make him study to become a professor.
“I mean, you are in some kind of sexual relationship with double-oh-seven, am I right?”
“And what exactly are you implying with that?” Q's tone is ice cold.
“Nothing, nothing. But maybe you aren't the best judge as to what those agents really need. And what are they here for.”
“'Those agents'?”
“I mean the whole double-oh section.”
“Why, please, enlighten me!”
“Well, they are trained to be killing machines. They are assassins. Yes, they are expendables, and they know it -it comes with the job description. Most of them show even some frightening sociopathic tendencies! We cannot waste that much money on something already irretrievably broken, in my opinion. We should focus on something more useful, like bacteriological warfare.”
Q is so stunned by the sheer idiocy of the whole speech that for a minute is actually unable to talk. M takes it as a sign and takes the floor. “Very well, Anderson, your opinion is duly noted. I do believe we said everything we needed for tonight, so I recommend we all go home and rest for a few hours. My decisions will be made in 36 hours maximum.”
What he writes in his notes, however, is give Q whatever he asks for -although he doesn't need to say that just yet... perks of being M, he supposes.
They all leave the room in a quick, neat fashion, Q still eerily quiet.
_____________
Anderson makes it almost to the lab before getting slammed into the wall. It's nearly too easy to forget that the young Quartermaster is indeed a lot stronger than he leads the world to believe.
“So, just let me get this straight, Andy-boy.” he grits viciously, his tone so sharp it could cut steel. “You don't want M to fund my tech for field agents because most of them are willing to give their life for their country? So that we all feel a little safer in our homes -even you, you sorry ingrate excuse of an arsehole? Their loyalty is what makes them sociopaths?”
The man can barely breathe, but Q's eyes harbour so much fury he is too scared to talk.
“Would you call a sociopath someone who cares enough about others to add sugar to someone else's tea just so he doesn't faint on the job? Or someone who always remember to bring something delicious to eat back from his missions? Or someone who learns how to cook for the sheer pleasure of sharing a meal with a friend once back home? Is this your classical definition of a sociopath?!”
The other man shakes his head vigorously, stammering something about the impossibility of accurate psych evaluations.
“Well, maybe field agents don't want to get evaluated if this translates into being certified as sociopath. I'm just saying, have you ever tried not being a judgemental ass? Because I work with them everyday, and we get along perfectly well.”
Anderson is on the verge of tears when Q finally (finally!) releases the collar of his shirt.
In a downright terrifying motion, the young genius places his mouth mere inches from the medic left ear, actively pinning him to the wall behind them.
“I'll let you know” he murmurs sweetly “that I am not in 'some kind of sexual relationship' with Bond. He is my boyfriend. And I happen to be very protective of what is mine.”
While the brunette turns to leave, Anderson just slides to the ground and shivers with fear and the heady sensation of having just had a near-death experience.
_____________
“Back already?”
“What can I say? I missed England.”
“How did it go?”
“I lost every single piece of gear you outfitted me with. And here? Everything's ok?”
“I drank tea too sweet, ate too many biscuits and had dinner with a scary woman.”
Bond just watches his young lover for a moment right in the eyes, before pouncing on him. Q all but wraps himself around the wall of muscles that is James Bond and kisses him with all he's got.
“God, I missed you so much!” he pants heavily.
The blond agent smiles. “I'm home, love.”