Work Text:
Midnighters
1.
Sometimes, Q didn't realise that outside of Q-Branch night had cloaked the city with its shadowy embrace; in MI6 underground the blue lights of the computer screens never died and it seemed as if time froze, keeping its interns captive in a realm where it was easy to forget about their real lives and get sucked in the darkly glamorous and bloodied world of spying. For that reason, if both Moneypenny and Tanner couldn't be spared from their duties, a Double-Oh or a couple of nurses from Medical were sent down with a list of the boffins that needed to be sent home, often accompanied by one of M's legendary written threats.
007 usually was tasked with the job during downtimes in between missions for the mere reason that he was the most efficient when it came to persuade the Quartermaster to abandon his office - not that he minded: wreaking havoc on the minions’ frail nerves was fun and it came with the bonus of spending some time together with his favourite genius.
James sauntered in Q-Branch, a folded paper held up in his hand “If when I come out of the Quartermaster's office I see any of the people written in this list still on this floor, you'll regret it” he proclaimed with an unpleasant and predatory smile as he passed the note in R's hands. Without another word, he moved towards the organised chaos that was Q's personal space.
Before entering the room, James smoothed the invisible creases in the jacket of his suit - a dove grey tailored affair that made his golden tan, recently touched up during a mission in Qatar, look even more intense “Time to go home, my dear Quartermaster” he sing-songed as he strode in.
It took Q a couple of seconds to look up, blinking owlishly at the broad-shouldered figure standing in front of him from behind smudged glasses that sat too low on his nose “Bond?”
James had to choke a fond sigh before it escaped his throat and he folded his hands behind his back to avoid reaching over and trying to make a sense of those unruly curls “I'm glad to know you still have enough brainpower to recognise your favourite agent”
“I don't have favourites” Q stated, a confused frown marring the pale expanse of his forehead “Shouldn't you still be in the desert?”
“Keep telling yourself that” James answered as he slipped a hand inside of his inner pocket, retrieving the USB pen he had been sent to retrieve; he dangled the shiny black piece of plastic in front of the other's face, almost as one would do to tease a cat with a treat “A surprising stroke of luck landed this right in my hands” he added smugly.
Q, predictably, reached for the USB pen - and he wasn't ashamed to admit that part of his mind was worrying over the fact that 007 would probably destroy it, as he did any other piece of tech abandoned in his hands for too long, if he didn't get a hold of it.
James tutted and hid the USB pen back in his jacket, prompting a tortured groan from Q “M said you can't have it until you have gotten some rest”
“That's not fair!”
“Careful, your inner child is showing” James grinned and retrieved the oversized parka, that was half-spilled on the floor, from the visitor chair and held it up for Q to slide in “Come on” he tried to persuade him in an encouraging tone.
Q would deny forever that he had childishly pouted at 007 as he started to turn off his computers and stood up to slide in the offered jacket “But you'll give it to me first thing in the morning, right?”
James smiled “I solemnly promise” and, strangely enough, he meant it: he couldn't remember a time he had lied to the younger man, it was a good feeling “First thing in the morning along with your cuppa”
2.
James’ eyelids fluttered open like butterfly wings, slowly revealing the arctic blue shade of his irises; the look in his eyes was confused for the first few seconds, pupils contracting as a reaction to the harsh white light shining in them - somehow, his brain was pretty sure that it was supposed to be dark. Then, he realised that the sharp smell that was giving him an headache was that of disinfectant: James immediately knew that he was in Medical.
“Good morning” Q greeted, barely looking up at the man swaddled in pristine white blankets - as white as the bandages wrapped around his bruised torso and head, speckled with rusty freckles of blood here and there “Or good night - when it's midnight, I'm never sure about how I should greet people” he added with a grin as he locked the tablet and pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, letting out a small noise of complaining when he noticed how smudged they were.
“What happened?” the agent inquired, trying to sit up.
The attempt immediately triggered Q's mothering instincts - he couldn't exactly help it, he always felt like the agents were under his care even once they were back on British soil - and the younger man moved to push Bond back down, scowling at him rather darkly “You fell down a flight of stairs when you slipped to dodge a bullet: on a bright note, you don't have any new holes - on the other hand, you have a concussion and four cracked ribs” Q explained, fingers fiddling with the bed remote to raise it a bit.
Even the movement of the mattress hurt and seemingly cut his lungs capacity in a half, but James didn't complain and gritted his teeth until he was sitting up “Thank you” He said, proud of himself when his voice came out clearer than he would have thought “Well, it could have been a lot worse”
“It could have” Q agreed. At the beginning, knowing that his agents had gotten the smallest and most insignificant injury had bothered him and sent him in a downwards spiral of regret; Tanner had sat him down, put a beer in his hand - Q didn't comment on the little fridge that was clearly kept in the office for that particular purpose: apparently, every head of department has a stash of alcohol hidden somewhere - and clearly explained that he couldn't hold himself accountable for every little thing that happened or he'd burn out and end up making even more mistakes. To be honest, Q had been a little peeved by the speech - he wasn't a kid that needed scolding - but once he'd slept over it, he had realised that Tanner had given him a pretty good piece of advice and had tried to put it in practice as often as possible “How are you feeling?”
James shrugged, immediately regretting it when his ribs protested quite loudly at the graceless movement “Like I was ran over but, apparently, I just fell down the stairs like an old lady with a bad hip”
The analogy made Q snort in amusement “Too bad that you have a bad shoulder instead, or the metaphor would have fit perfectly” he teased lightly, knowing that the agent didn't want or need pity. Instead, Q produced out of his bag a packet of crisps and tossed it to the agent with a flick of his wrist “Trash food is the best cure for everything”
“Amen to that” James smiled like a child on Christmas’ morning, quickly tearing the packet open and fishing a crisp out of it; he didn't know how Q had cottoned on the fact that he liked indulging in snacks and generally fatty and sugary food when he came back home from hard missions but James greatly appreciated it and delved in, closing his eyes when the crisp crunched loudly under his molars and the flavour burst on his taste buds: he finally was back at home - safe.
3.
“Stop scaring the living shit out of me!” Q reproached, hand plastered over his racing heart and a glare direct up towards the agent looming down over him “Why are you even here?” he asked after checking his watch, mentally scolding himself when he noticed that once again he'd kept working well after his shift had ended; though, he was positive that M hadn't send anyone - and, especially, not 007 - to boot him out of the agency and put him in a cab: he had come to work in the early afternoon so, he hadn't actually been working for that long.
James grinned and leaned against the car under which Q had been sprawled, long-fingered hands working their magic in a different way than usual but still so very talented “Double-Oh Seven, reporting for duty”
“Already?” Q frowned, absentmindedly pushing a rebellious - and, James noticed, particularly tightly coiled - curl out of his forehead, leaving a smudge of dark oil on his pale skin “You've been out of Medical only for three weeks”
“Alas, terrorists usually don't care for proper recovery times” James teased, offering the younger man a hand to help him up to his feet: he had a flight to catch and, while he would have loved to trade barbs with his Quartermaster for the rest of the night, he had a job waiting to be done “I don't imagine that I can borrow this beauty?”
Q ignored the hand and hoisted himself up “With you, it never is borrowing” he chided, grabbing an already greasy rag to try and wipe the worst of the oil from his hands.
“Please?”
“No” Q shook his head “Don't bat your lashes at me, Bond: I'm not so easily swayed. Besides, she's not ready yet”
“She looks ready to me” James leered a bit and chuckled when Q started to push him out of the workshop, letting himself be maneuvered towards the office.
“Sit down and be quiet while I look for your mission specks” the younger man said, hurrying behind his desk to open his email where there was all the information he needed to properly fit his agent. Q's eyes quickly read down the files: Russia, no matter the season, wasn't a pleasant place to go to if one cared more about the political climate rather than the weather - though, Bond knew the country well and Q wasn't ashamed to be more relaxed at the prospect of sending the agent out in the field before he'd had the time to heal properly: he still didn't like it - it was reckless and stupid and it made Q’s sleepy brain want to go and yell at M.
James watched the expression of Q's face change along with his emotions as he read further down: the mission was a matter of intel gathering and, while he had a reputation for attracting - and being attracted to - trouble, James was confident that he could bring home the information MI6 needed without causing too much mayhem.
The agent smiled, endeared, when Q started wandering around the office and murmuring to himself, fingers tapping in concentration against his temple as he decided what equipment was best based on the mission specs. James gratefully holstered the gun when Q slid it towards him and he couldn't avoid grinning with satisfaction when the green lights blinked at him in an almost welcoming fashion; it was followed by an extra clip of ammunition, the usual standard radio and something that he supposed to be a USB pen but that wasn't much bigger than his thumbnail.
“Don't poke at it” Q sighed as if he was dealing with a particularly stubborn and annoying child.
“It's so small” James complained, giving it another poke for good measure; he snatched his fingers away just in time when the younger man tried to bat at them, his reflexes quicker and honed on by experience.
“Just plug it in, launch the program inside and wait for it to be done” Q narrowed his eyes, inspecting once again what was on the table to make sure that he had given the agent everything he needed “You're good to go” he said in the end with a firm nod.
“I'll be back before you can start missing me” James winked.
“That's presuming that I miss you when you're away”
The agent tossed a roguish grin behind his shoulder “You do miss me, my dear Quartermaster”
4.
“If you're still at work at this hour of the night, I'm going to kick your arse”
“Just to be clear, you’re contacting Headquarters to make sure that I'm not doing my job?”
“You can leave the sarcasm at home next time, my dear Quartermaster: it won't get lonely, I assure you”
“Pot. Kettle. So, are you going to answer my question?”
“It's midnight, Q”
“Actually, it's half past midnight”
“That makes your situation worse, not better - go home”
“Yes, Daddy. When my shift ends I'll go home like a good boy”
“Did you seriously just call me Daddy?”
“Oh, you must prefer Father. It's more classic and it would suit you better, I admit - though, I already have one of those and he's a lovely man. Also, he gave up on ordering me to bed when I was ten”
“You must have driven the poor man insane”
“We're rather alike so, no”
“Kincade always says that I'm more like my mother”
“I'm sorry that you never knew them”
“...”
“Are you still there, James?”
“Yes, sorry. I got distracted. What are you doing?”
“Working on the car. I don't have much time for her during the day, too many more prominent issues to deal with, and one of my engineers was having a problem with a special feature so, I'm taking care of it”
“I like weaponised cars”
“I know you do. How's Russia?”
“Cold. But there's plenty of vodka to warm me up so, I'll be fine”
“You do know that alcohol doesn't actually increase your body temperature, right?”
“Liar, pants on fire”
“Seriously, James?”
“Prove it then. Come on Q, talk science to me”
“Alcohol causes the blood vessels in your skin to dilate, shunting blood from your core to the periphery: you're just redistributing the heat, but your actual body temperature hasn't changed”
“It sounds reasonable”
“That's because it's true”
“...”
“You're dozing, aren't you? Go to sleep, James: you need your rest”
“Last question”
“Alright. Shoot”
“...”
“James?”
“Are you missing me?”
“Go to sleep, James”
“Answer the question”
“...”
“Q?”
“Yes, I am. Now go to sleep and remember to return the equipment in one piece”
5.
James watched Moneypenny persuade Q into drinking another shot - vodka and Tabasco sauce, what an evil concoction - with mixed feelings: on one side, he couldn't wait to see just what kind of drunk Q was and wanted to know whether his perfect diction would falter and blur; on the other side, he was mildly worried about Eve’s intentions because she never did anything casually, a plan was always in the working.
“In case you're wondering, you're not being subtle at all” Tanner suddenly said from James’ left side - the action of someone too used to stand by people who might draw a firearm at any given moment - and unceremoniously dropped a chilled beer in his hand.
“I don't know what you're talking about” James retorted with a grin, raising the bottle in silent thanks before taking a sip; he preferred smoother spirits as a rule, burning liquors that sensually slipped down his throat, but a beer was always welcomed.
“Sure you don't” Bill hummed; on his face there was a placid and benevolent smile that his colleagues had learnt to correctly interpret as one of mischief “Q looks especially nice tonight, with those curls in disarray, the loose tie, sleeves rolled up past his elbows..”
“Oi” James scowled “You're a married man”
Bill arched an eyebrow, grin widening at the blatant display of jealousy he'd been looking for “And? We're the creative sort in bed”
It definitely was too much information: reliable and plain Tanner couldn't be kinky in the sheets, no way - especially, he couldn't have set his eyes Q: James hadn't been subtly wooing the younger man only to have the Chief of Staff snagging him from under his nose.
“Easy, James: you're turning green” Bill let his predatory facade fall and friendly bumped their shoulders together “I was teasing you”
James blinked “You're not the creative sort in bed?”
“No, I am. I was teasing you about dragging Q in my bed: he's not my type - or my wife's, for the matter: he would only trigger her mothering instincts and we're definitely not into that” Bill winked, patting the agent's shoulder “Back to my initial statement, you're not being subtle at all about leering at Q”
“I don't leer”
“You kind of do, really”
James was sure that he didn't . Not when it came to people, at least: he could admit that he leered a bit at shiny and fast cars but that was an healthy reaction that every sane person should have in front of certain beauties with purring engines that just begged to be pushed at their limits.
But he was getting distracted “Why is Moneypenny getting him drunk?” James inquired, pretty sure that Tanner very well knew Eve’s plans “He's going to have a killer headache tomorrow morning”
“I think that she actually wants to thwart your plans of seduction” Bill admitted, shrugging as he studiously focused on his beer; he was pretty sure that he shouldn't have enjoyed himself half as much as he did when it came to riling up the agent: it must have classified as a form of sadism.
“Why? Q's an adult, he can choose for himself” James pointed out, irritated on the younger man's behalf.
“Q is the darling of MI6 - did you really think that you'd get to date him without people getting oddly protective of him?” Bill didn't give James time to reply, the question more rhetoric than real in his mind “She'll relent, though, if you bring Q home once he's sloshed and tuck him in”
“And how will Eve know that I haven't fucked Q, anyway?” James asked just to be contrary: he might not have been the most moral person in the world, but he had some principles and a fully consenting partner definitely was one of those.
Bill chuckled “Q tells Eve everything ”
At that statement, the agent's mind was unpleasantly torn between two main lines of thinking: at least Eve already knew how he was in bed and wouldn't be surprised by Q's stories and Tanner must have been wrong because James’ himself clearly was the younger man's confidante.
James tossed back the last of his beer “Fine. But this is ridiculous”
“Agreed” Tanner hummed, taking from Bond the empty bottle “It's entertaining, though”
James scowled darkly at the other man before striding towards his object of interest: Q was sagging against Moneypenny, his balance impaired by the large quantities of alcohol he had imbibed and eyes shining as brightly as stars - well, that was sappy and even James had thought that he wouldn't manage to romanticize drunkenness. Apparently, he was wrong “Good evening” he greeted, glaring at Eve in a way that she couldn't possibly ignore.
Q lurched forward, miscalculating the distance between himself and the agent “James!” He let out a small noise when he collided against the other's chest, but leaned into the strong hands that grabbed and steadied his wobbly body “I'm made of jelly”
“Fascinating” James answered “Why don't we go at home?”
“What about cake?” Q whined “I want to see Mallory blow the candles”
“I'm sure that Eve will keep aside two large slices for you and you can have them for breakfast”
The Quartermaster turned towards his best friend - or he thought he did: he wasn't quite sure that he was properly facing her “Will you?” He asked, adding a pout for good measure: Mallory’s birthday cake was a decadent red velvet and he had refrained from stealing an early bite just because it was his boss’.
“Promise” Eve confirmed with a nod, leaning over to ruffle the younger man's already messy enough hair while she shot a warning glance at the agent.
James shook his head in disbelief: did Moneypenny really believe that he could shag someone who completely was out of It? “Come on, let's go my dear Quartermaster” he coaxed gently, hands moving to completely support Q on their way to the car “Where are your things?”
“Office”
James thanked that Q's office was close to the parking lot; he could have easily carried him bridal style but he didn't think that, the following morning, Q would appreciate remembering something like that or the inevitable resulting gossip. All things considered, James considered it lucky that Q's things were close to his car and made a quick as possible job of gathering everything before he strapped Q in the passenger seat; after a moment of hesitation, James put a plastic bag in the younger man's lap “I hope you have a decent aim”
Q blinked down at it, fingers reflexively curling around the plastic “I'm not going to throw up”
“It's for my peace of mind” James reassured and smoothly inserted himself in the late night traffic; he made an effort to drive slower and safer than usual, not wanting to accidentally upset Q's stomach.
During the ride neither of them talked, nor the radio had been turned on: they had never needed something - either music or chatter - to fill the silence, being perfectly comfortable with each other's undiluted presence. The silence protracted even as they made their way up to Q's flat, disturbed only by the cats’ soft welcoming mewls; when Q attempted to bend down and scoop them up, James rolled his eyes and brought him back up to a straight position “Go to bed, I'll bring them”
Q hummed in understanding and stumbled towards the bedroom. He didn't bother with getting into his pyjamas and just awkwardly shimmied out of his clothes before hiding under his thick duvet, glasses mashed between his face and the pillow. When the bed dipped, Q made grabby motions towards his cats and smiled happily when they snuggled up to him, purring and greedy for affection.
“Fluffy buggers” James commented at the sight, tucking the blankets around the other's body to make sure he was warm enough.
“Stay” Q murmured, fingers trying to get a hold of the agent's wrist to keep him there “Please, stay”
He did.
+1.
It had been a while since Q had woken up with a killer hangover, head pounding at the rhythm of his heart and mouth feeling pasty in a way that had always reminded him of mould and that only made the roiling in his stomach feel worse.
Or maybe that was the scent of eggs and bacon frying in his kitchen, which also explained the suspicious lack of cats on his pillows: the filthy buggers had no restraint when it came to food and would whore themselves to anyone in order to get treats - luckily, it wasn't just anyone who was in his flat and Q groaned loudly at the memories of the night before.
He was going to kill Eve - or, realistically speaking, he was going to make an absolute mess of her computer - for getting him ridiculously drunk at Mallory’s birthday party, consequently letting Bond see him in that pitiful state.
What was worse, the agent had been completely cavalier about the whole ordeal and hadn't shagged him - they didn't even kiss! Not only Q had made a fool of himself, but he hadn't even gotten anything out of it apart from the breakfast that the agent was cooking, if he wasn't having olfactory hallucinations.
The young man let himself wallow in misery for a few seconds more before climbing his way out of bed and retreating to the bathroom; Q immediately gave up on taming his hair - it was an impossible task on the best of days - and brushed his teeth, the taste of toothpaste both a relief and stomach upsetting.
Though, the sight of a barefooted James Bond, wearing just a shirt and boxer briefs, cooking in his kitchen was completely worth the hangover trying to kill him: the man looked magnificently relaxed, bathed in sunlight and Q had never wanted to kiss him more “Good morning”
James turned around to greet Q, chuckling at the way his curls were sticking up in every direction “Good morning. How are you feeling?”
“Like death warmed over” Q admitted, crouching down to pet the cats swarming around his calves “Thank you for taking care of me yesterday night”
“We're a team, Q: we take care of each other” James pointed out, kneeling on the floor too; he cupped Q's chin in his palm, raising it slightly “Are you in control of all your faculties and able to give consent?”
The younger man frowned “Yes, why?”
“A disclaimer for Eve I'm So Nosy Moneypenny” James grinned and leaned over, lips naturally slotting over Q's - finally.