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Another day, another mission, another jumped-up supervillain wannabe who clearly watched too many B-rated sci-fi movies growing up.
James Bond woke slowly from his henchman-inspired nap and found himself tied to a chair. So far, so normal. Must be Tuesday. He kept his eyes closed for a moment and controlled his breathing, letting his ears inform him of his situation.
Also, his head was killing him and the last thing he wanted to look at was a smug arsehole with dreams of world domination. He subtly tested his restraints and ascertained that he was tied to…a rolling chair? It felt like a decent quality desk chair with good lumbar support. It was quite comfortable. Perhaps he ought to requisition one for his office. If he had a nice chair, he’d be more likely to get his paperwork in on time. Yes, that’s what he’ll tell them.
“Oooh, I think he’s awake!”
Movement at his side, but the cultured, posh voice was the very last one he expected to hear in-person, during the unpleasant and annoying bit of a mission. The fact that he heard this voice meant a whole host of bad things, each thing categorically worse than the thing before.
He opened one eye.
“He is awake. Splendid! 007, we were just talking about you.”
Bond opened the other eye. His ears and first eye did not lie. The Quartermaster was still there, beaming at him like the happiest idiot in the world. Unlike Bond, who was tied hand and foot to his chair, Q was only shackled to the arm rests. His feet swung free and careless, like a child, and he didn’t appear to be in any discomfort or distress. Unlike Bond, who couldn’t feel his feet anymore.
Q scooted over to Bond and leaned over. “This place is bloody amazing. There are crocodiles! Beneath our feet.”
Ordinarily, Bond would appreciate Q’s attention to detail and enthusiasm for the oddness that sometimes befell Bond during his duties. And he’d usually take the information for an astute warning of his impending demise if he didn’t shift his arse and do something brilliant. But when Q leaned in, he noticed that the Quartermaster’s pupils were huge. Bond couldn’t hardly see any green around them.
Various questions and coded comments ran through Bond’s head like a ticker tape, but what he finally blurted was: “Are you high?”
“As a fucking satellite,” Q informed him. He drew out every syllable and then giggled his weird, adorable giggle. “This is why I don’t go into the field. Kidnapping and drugging and do you know—I haven’t been this high since I experimented with LSD in uni and then went on an epic hackathon that almost landed me in jail.”
“Almost?” asked another voice. Bond looked over at the villain du jour.
Jack Ainsworth: an American national, trained biologist, and confirmed eco-terrorist. He was young, blond, and looked like he might be one of Michelangelo’s sculptures come to life. With his bright blue eyes, tanned skin, and—Bond could grudgingly admit it—beautifully tailored bespoke suit, he looked more suited to a red-carpet event or a runway than an evil megalomaniac. His attention was riveted on Q like a besotted puppy.
Bond hated Ainsworth’s guts with a furious passion he wasn’t aware he was capable of feeling.
Q beamed back at the villain, something sly and flirty in his expression. He waved a hand around his head with a deliberate, cute flourish. “Oh, I led them a merry chase through half of England before they realized I was in France on a summer exchange. And by then I was sober, so I ended up hacking them to delete all the information that they’d gathered on me and left my resume in the system, instead. I thought, why go through all that drama and not get a job out of it? They didn’t even wait for me to get home. Sent an agent to drag me back to London. 0010. M was not amused when I told her that as good as I was while high, she should see me when I’m sober. Magic.” He waggled his fingers for emphasis.
Oh good, Bond thought. One of the most powerful people at MI-6 was a chatterbox when high. And not only does he admit to past criminal behavior that sounded an awful lot like the grey area around treason, but he admits it with relish and happy nostalgia. Great.
“You hacked MI6 to get a job?” Bond wasn’t sure if he was surprised or appalled.
“It was a happy accident,” Q said. “By then I’d had a good look around and there really wasn’t anywhere else that would challenge me as much. I thought, what the hell.”
They said that the best agents embodied the traits of those they hunted. Perhaps it was no different for Q, in his world of cybercrime and manipulations. Although, he had a hard time thinking of Q’s predecessor as anything but someone’s mostly harmless, absent-minded professor.
“It’s very hard being talented and brilliant in a world that values mediocrity. People don’t understand vison, or purpose, or appreciate the big picture like we do. It’s very trying, sometimes.”
“I couldn’t agree more, Jack.” Q beamed at the terrorist.
Q swung back around, gracing Bond with his full attention once more. “Anyway. James. The crocodiles. They’re amazing creatures—dinosaurs, really. Did you know, they have more muscles to close their jaws than they do to open them? It’s true. Trying to pry a croc off when it’s decided you are lunch is almost impossible, but you can basically keep them from opening their mouths at all with one hand.”
Bond looked at the crocs. They mostly just laid around in their manmade indoor pond two levels down. Bond had encountered enough specimens of the creatures to know that although they looked like fat, indolent lizards, they were fast as lightning and could climb and jump much higher than most would guess. The room Bond, Q, and Ainsworth were in—the heart of the lair, Bond guessed—was directly above the pit and had a glass floor with a grated hole in the middle of it, big enough to shove a large man into the pit when open. Was this a coded message from Q? A warning about what was to come? He tried to wrap his aching brain around it.
“They are my absolute favorite creature,” Jack Ainsworth said, not the least put off by Q’s little lecture to Bond. “These are actually American alligators, but it’s fine, not many understand the distinction. In any case, they’re a keystone species. I want to save them, and all other creatures like them, from the evils of humanity.” He walked over to the hole and looked down, smiling fondly at the ancient predators.
“Oh, how can you tell the difference?” Q scooted his desk chair closer to the hole, ignoring Bond’s short sotto voce command to stay where he was. But at least Ainsworth’s back was turned, and it gave Bond a little more leeway to work on his restraints. “I’ve always wondered.”
Ainsworth looked at Q like he was the answer to life, the universe, and everything. “The one sees you in a while, the other sees you later.”
Q giggled and Bond rolled his eyes.
“You know,” Ainsworth continued, “I’ll be happy to explain everything about our mission here, if you’re interested,” he said.
“I’m so interested,” Q said. “Please, tell me everything about this place and your operation. It’s very impressive.”
Ainsworth beamed and rolled him back over to sit by Bond again. Q allowed it with a winsome smile, primly crossing his legs and folding both hands in his lap. Bond had the sudden image of Q as a student, all bright-eyed and insufferable and the perfect size for stuffing into a locker or large gym bag. Q cut a glance over to Bond and grinned naughtily while their villainous host’s back was turned.
Bond glowered back and kept working his restraints. He was almost free. Piece of cake. Q’s giant, drugged-up eyes followed the progress with a calculating, interested light and a small half-smile. It was a good thing Q was cute and valuable, Bond thought, because he’s a little shit.
Klaxons rang through the compound, and Ainsworth sighed. “Another damn breach. I’ll be back once I kill whoever it is.”
“I’ll be waiting,” Q crooned after him. Bond rolled his eyes again, but luckily for him, Ainsworth was already stomping out the door, machine gun in hand.
Q whipped around to fix Bond with an unexpectedly hard, unblinking stare. “That was a terrible joke. You must kill him, 007.”
Bond ignored that. “Did you radio for help when you were captured?” Bond asked.
“I did,” Q said. “And I dropped some explosive cufflinks in strategic places as they hauled me in. I expect we don’t have long before he’s back. What do you think about the lair?”
“What?” Bond wiggled in his restraints. Q reached over and unclasped one of Bond’s hands.
“This is a lovely lair,” Q said. “It has a very futuristic aesthetic I enjoy, with the very terrifying functionality that you would like. I’d prefer to upgrade the restraints, though. They didn’t feel as snug and secure as they should.”
Bond leaned in closer as well. “I didn’t realize you were a realtor who’s into bondage, Q.”
“Think about it. This is prime lair real estate. And it has dinosaurs, after a fashion,” Q paused. Clearly, his more logical brain was making a run for lucidity. Then he shook his head and it was gone, leaving him with huge, Puss-in-Boots eyes that stared deeply into Bond’s soul and asked the dark thing that lurked within to come out to play with him.
“What are you saying, Q? And how about helping me escape and complete the mission?”
Q blinked. “Escaping? I’m talking about—” he unbuckled Bond’s other hand from the armrest and was suddenly in Bond’s personal space, whispering in his ear. “Taking over. You. Me. The world. Want to? It’ll be fun, I promise.”
“What happened to your restraints?” Bond asked. When had Q gotten free? How had he gotten free?
“Oh, those.” Q shrugged. “They were easy. I dated a magician for a year. He wasn’t David Copperfield, but he wasn’t half-bad, and he was very grateful for the attention if you catch my meaning. I picked up a few tricks here and there. So, what do you say? Do you want to take over the world with me?”
Bond gaped. “This is a hell of a time to ask for a first date, Q, let alone to skip straight to a weird marriage proposal.” He unbuckled his ankles and felt the pins-and-needles sensation spread all the way to his toes.
“Don’t be banal. This isn’t dinner and a film and curtains and adopting a slobbery mutt that you’ll undoubtedly want someday. You have to admit that world domination and picking out a lair together is much sexier.”
It was. It really was. Bond tamped down on the impulse to agree and looked away from Q’s mesmerizing eyes before he did something regrettable.
“I don’t know, Q. This lair is a bit of a stereotype, and hard to defend if attacked. Perhaps you should keep looking. I’m more partial to the sea than the swamp. And I like sharks.”
The Quartermaster absorbed this for a moment. “Oh, of course. Navy man,” the look on his face got faraway and dreamy. “Agreed, a more aquatic lair is necessary. Very well. The hunt continues. Get the floor grate open, please.”
He lurched out of the chair toward Ainsworth’s abandoned laptop, looking like an awkward baby giraffe trying to find his feet. He looked at the screen solemnly for a moment, did some typing, then closed the lid and chucked it into the gator pit, nodding firmly when it splashed into the pond and drowned. The gators grunted at the disruption.
Bond reached out a steadying hand to make sure Q himself didn’t trip and fall into the gator pit below. The boffin seemed to be focusing all his attention on staying upright and did seem a little more coordinated for his efforts. Q reclaimed his office chair and spun it to face the door. “He’ll be back anytime now, you might want to dispatch him quickly.”
Bond took up his position by the door and readied himself to strike. “What about that villainous monologue you were all excited about?”
Q grinned with a lot of teeth. “No one gets excited by a monologue, Bond, do keep up. I was—” Q stopped, searching for a word. “Honey-trapping. He’s very fit. I would be very happy to seduce him for Queen and Country. I wouldn’t mind at all.”
“I would mind,” Bond said.
The Quartermaster looked delighted and intrigued. “Don’t worry, I’d share, if you like.”
Bond closed his eyes. “Please stop talking.”
Q lounged in his repurposed desk chair. The doors hissed back open.
“False alarm!” chirped Jack Ainsworth, right before Bond smashed him headfirst into a wall to stun him enough that Bond could break his neck. He started dragging the body to the hole in the floor. The gators below stirred with a tiny bit of interest.
“A little help?” Bond asked. Ainsworth was not a lightweight.
Q whirled around once in the chair. “Put your back into it, 007. Besides, I like to watch you work.”
“I like you better sober.”
“Spoilsport,” Q said.
Bond dumped the body into the gator pit. They sort of sniffed the air and one of them half-heartedly chomped on an arm that had fallen within range of its snout. Bond thought, good enough for government work, and left them to it.
“Come on, we have a bombing to foil before you crash,” Bond said. “I hope your hands are steadier than your feet.”
Q was a bit wobbly, reaching out a hand to clasp Bond’s bicep to steady himself.
“They will be,” he said, unexpectedly grim. “Get us out of here, 007.”
007_Q_007
“…So as you can see, it was a straightforward mission,” Bond said. M raised an eyebrow that was either impressed or disbelieving of Bond’s version of events.
“You figured out the plan, got kidnapped, killed Ainsworth, escaped, foiled the plan, and made it back without international incident or unnecessary drama.” M looked at Q, who was slumped in the next chair, glasses dangling from the fingers of one hand while the other pinched the bridge of his nose. “I should send you out in the field more often, Q, you seem to be a stabilizing influence.”
“Thank you, but I decline,” said Q. “I’m afraid that I’m not really cut out for fieldwork.”
“Besides, he can do more damage with his laptop, in his pajamas and before his first cup of tea than I probably could in the field in a year,” Bond said, lips twisting up in a half-smirk. He’d seen it, first-hand.
Bond allowed himself a moment to remember fondly a recent morning in a generic hotel room with one very cross, hungover boffin doing just that, sitting cross-legged on Bond’s bed while wearing Doctor Who pajama pants and one of Bond’s dress shirts. The comedown from whatever Q had been drugged with had been a bitch, and Bond had had his hands full wrangling a boffin who was scary, vengeful, and adorable in turns.
M looked between the two of them. He didn’t look convinced but decided that what he didn’t know couldn’t traumatize him. “Right. Well. Thank you for such prompt reports. Dismissed.”
Q and Bond made themselves scarce. Out in the hallway, a safe distance away, Q turned and stopped just short of brushing Bond’s sleeve. Bond gave him an arch look. Q hadn’t had a problem with personal space during the mission, so he didn’t quite get what was making the boffin look so constipated now.
“Thank you,” Q said.
“For what?”
Q flushed prettily and addressed his shoes. “My memory of what happened is fairly spotty, so I’m trusting your version of events. But I also seem to remember…other things. I think I—I propositioned you, didn’t I? More than once, I expect. No, don’t tell me what I did. I don’t want to know. I think I behaved unprofessionally, 007, and I do apologize. I hope things don’t become…weird between us.”
Bond gave Q a slow grin that reached his eyes and started walking away from him, backwards, hands in his pockets. “Nothing to apologize for, Quartermaster. Let me know if you find a nice place with a large saltwater aquarium, won’t you?”
Q squinted at him, confused. Bond spun on his heel and left, grinning widely.