Work Text:
Day One
“Agent down.”
The broken sound of a field agent’s voice came over the com, and Q felt the words hit him hard in the chest. He tried to breathe, but his throat closed up and he started quietly choking. His grip on the edge of his desk tightened as he tried to hold himself up when his knees threatened to give out. No one could see the sweat that had begun to pour off him when his chest started to twist and his stomach threatened to empty four cups of tea and a biscuit onto the floor.
After what seemed like an eternity, his hand slipped off the metal desk. Three minions, who he was sure had appeared by magic, caught him before he hit the ground. He knew they could feel his shaking as he heard R’s muffled voice telling them to take him to his office but he couldn’t be bothered to care.
Day Two
R had seamlessly assumed control over Q-Branch, and not a sing minion had questioned it. Q still hadn't left his office, and the minions only entered to deposit food on his desk and remove the still full plates they have left a few hours before. If an agent came in and refused to speak to anyone but Q (which happened on a regular basis), the agent's car mysteriously never started again, functioning only in the middle of the night, and blaring every single alarm at thirty second intervals.
Day Three
Tanner was the first from Executive Branch to notice that something was amiss in Q-Branch. He wasn't their friend, precisely, but when he came in he only got straightforward answers, instead of the riddles they usually fed him.
“Where's Q?”
“His office.”
“Is he working?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“He's nonfunctional.”
After that answer, Tanner nodded and left the Branch. Agents stopped asking for Q, after that, and the entire Q-Branch break room was restocked with coffee, tea, and anything else that contained caffeine.
The minions realized that they had an ally.
Day Four
The now-normal routine of R giving orders and the minions treating her as they did Q paused after the newest recruit to the Branch had been assigned the task of delivering Q's food and tea. In hindsight, it had been a rookie mistake that R and the rest of the minion scolded themselves for not seeing.
Two minutes after the minion had left Q's office, they all heard smashing coming from the small side room. They all turned, looking at the wall, even though there was no window for them to look into and see what Q was doing. Despite that, they heard the distinct sound of drywall breaking and glass shattering, books falling and paper flying.
Then the shouting started.
A flow of curses in ten languages that R recognized, and a handful she didn't, started coming from the office. It continued for a while, punctuated by the occasional sound of breaking furniture or more holes being added to the wall. Q showed no signs of stopping when one of the minions turned to face the girl who had set him off.
“What did you do?” he asked.
“I told him I was sorry about Bond, and that they had found the body,” she responded meekly, realizing what she had done.
R whipped around to face the girl, anger plain on her face. “Do you spend all of your time in an ignorant, moronic bliss, or only the times when you actually need to use your brain?” she snapped. A few of the older minions stared at her in shock, and a few of the younger ones actually flinched. R was usually the one who protected them from abuse, from agents and Q alike.
“Are you really such a short-sighted, feeble-minded, berk knave?” R continued ignoring the fact that the girl looked close to tears. R held her gaze with a strong glare as the tension built in the room and every minion stared.
The sound of a smashing computer monitor sounded through the room, bringing everyone back to the trouble at hand. “Get out of my sight and do not come back. Not today, not tomorrow, not ever. You will never set foot in Q-Branch again. Do I make myself clear?” R's voice was tight, controlled. The girl nodded and rushed out of the room, obviously trying to hide her tears.
Eventually, Q's curses returned to English, less harsh than they had been before, and then they stopped. R slipped away from the command station and slowly opened Q's door.
Q's computer monitor lay next to the door, smashed to pieces. The contents of his desk were scattered across the floor, and there were at least 7 fist-sized holes in the walls, and 2 that appeared to have been caused by his foot. One part of the wall was edged with broken glass and water when Q had smashed all of the snow globes Bond had made a habit of bringing back from his missions.
Then there was Q himself.
He sat on the ground, apparently where he had collapsed. His eyes were bright red and swollen from crying, and R could hear his mumbled voice saying, “selfish bastard,” over and over again, broken only by the occasional cry or choking breath. R turned around and shut the door, then, pretending she hadn't seen anything at all.
Day Five
R went into Q's office, like she did every morning, to check on him. He was, thankfully, asleep, and she allowed herself a small smile. She grabbed the blanket that she gave him when she found out how often he stayed the night at the office, and tip-toed across the room before draping it across his shoulders and sneaking back out of the office before he could wake.
Day Six
It was midday when R's screen suddenly blinked with a notification from Q. “Please send me something to work on,” it read. With a small smile, she sent him some for the more mind-numbing tasks that were more time-consuming that they were difficult. She glanced around at the minions to make sure none of them had noticed. She didn't want to give them any false hope.
Q was getting better, but there was still a long way he could fall.
Day 7
Q came out of his office for the first time in a week and walked straight to the side bathroom that Q-Branch had had installed. He came back a half-hour later, showered and dressed in his spare clothes.
All of the minions were grinning wildly as Q walked directly up to R and placed his hand on her shoulder. “Thank you, R,” he said, his smile small but genuine. She smiled back through the tears welling up in her eyes. Q's eyes were cold and dead, but he was smiling, and she would quicker go to hell than let him see her cry.
“Of course, sir,” she said, quite proud of the fact that her voice hadn't wavered in the slightest. The minions must have noticed, however, because one by one, they stood up and watched the two of them, waiting for R to give them the signal to remove Q from the Branch.
“I'm terribly sorry for the mess in the office,” Q said softly. “And for not giving you any directions. Despite that, you have excelled at your job and risen above and beyond the call of duty.” He reached out, pulling her into a hug. “You'll make a great Q,” he whispered in her ear.
She could only give him a sad smile in response before he walked out of Q-Branch. All of the minions stared as he left, and some of them were choking back tears, and some of them were giving Q salutes. The minion closest to R turned to her and whispered under her breath, “Not good.”
R cleared her throat, and then snapped, “Get back to work.”
Q walked into the Nation Gallery and found the place where his misfortune had started. He sat down in front of the painting and began reciting, in his head, the conversation that had happened nearly 10 years previous. He followed it with the conversation that had happened 6 years later, when Bond had proposed to Q. And, finally, the conversation that had happened two weeks ago when Bond had told Q that M had given him clearance for retirement, and that this mission would be his last.
He should have seen it coming, really. A double-oh mission going according to plan? It was almost laughable. In fact, it was laughable, and he began chuckling quietly to himself, watching as the people who passed him pretended to ignore him and quickly continued into the next room. He continued laughing until it turned to crying and he had soaked the scar around his neck.
He knew that James hadn't believed in an afterlife. Hell, he had barely believed in death itself. But if Q was right, Bond would be sitting outside some golden gates being told off by some angel because he wouldn't go in without Q. He smiled at the thought, looking up to see the painting through his blurred vision.
Q took a deep breath. This was a lot easier in the movies he thought idly, before he reached into the pocket of his jacket and pulled out the gun he had stowed there. He gave a sad smile one last time, before placing the gun in his mouth and pulling the trigger.
Here I come.