Work Text:
The Office
“There must be a mistake” James whispered, fingers tentatively caressing the sleek surface of M’s metallic desk - his desk. But how could that be possible? He was an agent and a damned good one at that - especially if one closed both eyes when presented with his equipment destruction records - and his talent lay in brutal strength and an uncanny ability to escape Death’s clutches.
Resurrect from Hell, even.
Sucking up to higher ups and filling in endless piles of paperwork had never been in the picture; even if James would have managed to survive until retirement - an admittedly higher possibility since the new Q had started handling his missions - the only alternative career in MI6 that he had envisioned for himself, it had been training the greener agents.
James Bond, the infamous 007 with a penchant for making embassies explode and falling in bed with the wrong women, would never be a pencil pusher. Never .
“Believe me, I checked the email three times and hacked into the higher ups’ computers to make sure that a virus didn’t send it out” Q answered and, judging by his expression, he didn’t seem to be particularly persuaded by the new development either “There’s no mistake: you’re the new M - if you’re taking the job, of course”
“But..” James couldn’t remember a time in his life when he’d been so speechless; even when Raoul Silva had tied him to a chair and made some frankly disturbing insinuations, he’d had a cheeky answer ready on the tip of his tongue “Why not Mallory?” He inquired in the end, despair clear in his voice.
“The higher ups wanted someone with extensive field expertise to cover the position and, while Mallory has been an agent in his youth, he doesn’t quite have your experience” Q explained, almost as if trying to convince himself of the words he was saying “The PM specifically said that in his opinion, some mistakes could have been avoided with an experienced agent at the lead of the agency”
“Then why can’t I.. I don’t know, monitor missions when I’m not in the field”
Q arched an eyebrow “I thought it was pretty clear that you’re being retired from active duty?”
James loathed it when the younger man used that snooty and posh voice with him, it made his hands prickle with the need of bending the brat over and show him why exactly he should have had more respect for his elders “I’m only 42” He pointed out.
“And you’ve failed your last Medical check-up, Bond” Q retorted, one hand slamming down on the desk; sometimes, the Double-Ohs’ stubborn streaks drove him mad and Q realised that maybe he was a little too attached to his agents - that he cared too much about a handful of people who risked their lives on a daily basis “This is the last shot MI6 is giving you; your body is not at its best anymore and Psych isn’t going to clear you for active duty either after what happened at Skyfall” on the last word, Q’s voice had thinned to a barely there whisper: no matter what Eve and James himself said, he felt guilty about most of what happened and blamed himself everyday for being so overconfident and naive when battling against someone as Raoul Silva “They have already stripped you of your Double-Oh status”
Stripped of his status . After decades of sacrifices for Queen and Country, just like that, the higher ups had taken away from him the title that he’d earned himself after two killings, while they played mind games and drank tea in their ridiculously decorated offices. Anger boiled in his stomach, an ugly and heavy ball of resentment that roiled and he had to fight to keep down “This is ridiculous” He hissed, turning away from Q - don’t shoot the messenger , James had to remind himself; after all, none of what was happening was Q’s fault “I don’t know how to do this job”
Q sighed and sat down, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose so that he could rub at his tired eyes; in the past weeks, he’d been working hard and long hours to somehow make a sense of the whole Skyfall disaster - his first real mission as a Quartermaster and it had gone worse than pear-shaped “I didn’t know how to do my job either” Sure, he had been the best minion in Q-Branch but he didn’t have a clue about how to work in a team and direct people so that they would seamlessly work towards the same goal. It had been hard and frustrating, more than once he he had been tempted to go to M’s office and plead her to find a substitute: he’d longed to go back to his comfortable anonymity.
“But you’re still doing what you’re good at” James spat out, shoulders tensing under the sharp cut of his baby-blue suit.
“Sometimes? Yes” Q nodded “But mostly I deal with paperwork and bullshit politics more time than I actually spend coding; my worries aren’t anymore about whether the project I’m working on will be approved, now I worry about whether the project I’m approving is affordable and as safe as possible for people to use; instead of working alone on an assignment, I have to lead a team. I could go on making examples to show you that I’m not actually doing the job I applied for once out of uni anymore”
James turned around, arms crossed over his chest “Why did you stay, then?”
Q shrugged “I don’t know exactly. I suppose I care more about the lives I can save, rather than staying in my corner and coding the day away”
It made sense, in a way; James could appreciate the younger man’s sense of duty, his desire to protect and serve their country in any way he could. It also made him feel a little ashamed about the fact that he was protesting so much and kicking up such a fuss when he was clearly needed - but it was so difficult to accept the idea of going from a field job to a desk one; James knew himself and he was quite aware of the restlessness that licked up his spine whenever downtime between missions lasted too long “Are you sure that there’s no way to get out of this?”
“Without being booted out of MI6? Yeah, I’m pretty sure” Q answered earnestly; they hadn’t known each other for very long - barely a year - but their working relationship had been fundamentally built on honesty, which had led to a reciprocal trust that Q cherished quite a lot. He wasn’t going to start lying now and ruin months worth of collaboration - especially if James ended up accepting the post and became, to all effect, his superior- just to be merciful and fill the other man’s head with false hopes.
“You’re smiling like a loon” James pointed out as he cocked his head to the side to curiously study the other’s face, focusing on Q to momentarily ignore the despair that was filling him.
Q grinned “I just realised that I’m not going to be your superior anymore”
James huffed to cover up a chuckle “Has anyone ever told you how much of an oddball you are?”
“Amongst other people here and there, you have - every single day” Q winked cheekily “I’m rather proud of that”
“Of course you are” the older man rolled his eyes and let himself fall in the other guest chair, falling silent behind the colleague he thought the most as an actual friend. If there was an amazing thing about Q, it was the fact that he wasn’t one of those people who felt the need to fill silence with useless chit chat; he usually whipped out his mobile and tinkered with it or quietly sipped at his tea, while James did his thinking in peace.
“Do you think I can do it?” He asked. James was honestly surprised by the insecurity in his own tone of voice: he’d never felt less than secure in his footing in MI6, it was a disquieting feeling realising that he didn’t feel certain about his position in the agency anymore.
“With some help to get used to the bureaucratic part of the job, yes - I think you’d make a very good M”
James was curious to know about the reason why Q thought that of him, but he didn’t ask and figured he would do so later when he’d inevitably feel inadequate to fill in the former M’s shoes and could use a boost to his ego. In the end, James just picked the lock of the cabinet in which he knew Olivia Mansfield had kept the good scotch and poured them both a healthy dose “Thank you”
“You’re welcome” Q clinked their glasses together “You can always trust me to tell you when you’re being a dickhead”