Chapter Text
The first thing M ever said to the new Quartermaster after 007 came back to life was, “For the love of god, whatever you do, do not fall in love with him.”
Unfortunately for Q, she said that in front of his entire branch.
The betting pool has been going on ever since.
It has even branched out in some very unexpected directions. (All of that has been courtesy of Bond, naturally.)
They did think it was a write-off after 007 buggered off with the pretty blonde, but he returned with his tail between his legs before they got around to giving people their money back.
There were mixed reactions over his less than grand return, not quite befitting a double-oh of Bond’s calibre, but the consensus seemed to show cautious optimism from all sides.
If nothing else, at least there was the possibility of the Quartermaster becoming less despondent due to the way Bond, armed only with a smile and a few well chosen words, always managed to penetrate the cool façade Q tried to surround himself with.
*
Q’s not looking forward to his first official meeting with Bond after the man’s unexpected return.
He did see Bond on the day of his return, briefly on his way to the executive floor to meet with Moneypenny and fetch her for their shared lunch. But that meeting was nothing more than a surprised look, a civilised nod, and a cheeky wink from Bond. Q had rolled his eyes at the last bit, for obvious reasons, and hurried off to seek out Moneypenny so that he could continue to bitch and moan about Bond to her for most of their hour-long lunch.
Yes, that had not been one of his shining moments, that Q freely admits.
To himself, at least.
Still, that was in the past, and now is now. Bond’s not quite requalified yet - after all, he only made his way back to Six three days ago - but he has made an appointment with Q nevertheless.
And by appointment, Q means an actual, official request for a meeting, duly processed and added into his calendar by one of the junior Q-branchers. Q had honestly thought Bond did not know - or care - enough to bother with something like that.
Apparently, he’d been wrong. Wonders never ceased with 007.
And to think that Q had almost been looking forward to a new 007, one who wouldn’t make him want to rip out all of his hair with quite such alarming frequency as Bond has a habit of doing.
It is true what they say, Q muses: be careful what you wish for, you might end up getting it.
Not that getting it in this context means what some of his more involved minions have in mind.
They honestly think that Q is not fully aware of the betting pool that’s been going around since, really, the day he’d become the Quartermaster. The audacity of the young, he supposes, and isn’t unable to see the irony in such a statement. But he digresses.
And he could find out what exactly the betting pool consists of, if he really wanted to. So far, he has taken the high road and allowed his minions to keep their secrets and their fun. Besides, it has turned out to be good for morale as well as team building. This, in turn, has boosted efficiency in their work, which is something that Q heartily encourages. So the betting pool, despite it mostly circling around his person, has done a world of good for the department, he concludes, and therefore keeps on pretending he’s none the wiser.
For the record, when Q had been wishing for a more considerate, thoughtful 007, he’d never have thought he could potentially find it in Bond, who is still the holder of the title.
(Q did wonder for a moment, before 005’s mission went pear-shaped at the time and he needed to dedicate his full focus on that, why no retirement paperwork for Bond, or at least paperwork for a new 007, ever found its way to his metaphorical table. But then there were other, more pressing, matters to focus on, and the fleeting thought got buried under several other, imminently more important thoughts. Such is, after all, the busy life of the Quartermaster of MI6.)
Bond’s two month holiday with the lovely Dr Swann notwithstanding, the man looks rather good, considering that he returned alone after what must have been at least a semi-sudden breakup. Not that Q knows what Bond has been up to since leaving Six and the rest of them without any proper goodbyes - Q had thought of their group as friends, Bond included - but one can always speculate.
If one wishes. When one has nothing better to do and when one lies alone in one’s dark bedroom, staring at the ceiling and trying so hard to just fall asleep for heaven’s sake.
Q, as the one in question, firmly digresses. Again.
Still, the fact remains that he has no idea what to expect when Bond finally turns up. He just hopes that it won’t be a painful experience for either of them.
*
Bond appears at 2 pm on the dot. Q is aware of it not because he sees Bond, but because he feels the atmosphere change and sees his minions’ reactions through his open door.
He’s watched several videos of meerkats on the internet, and he cannot help making comparisons between the adorable little animals and the way his people behave. Meerkats may be somewhat cuter, but there is something sweetly hilarious about the way his minions’ heads are suddenly popping up from behind their monitors and performing uncanny imitations of curious little animals sniffing the air — though Q knows not to voice any such thoughts while R is in the vicinity. He much prefers his hearing intact, and his body parts as they currently are, thank you very much.
Q saves the email he was in the process of writing and sits back in his chair to follow Bond’s movements through the room. He notices that Bond exchanges nods and greetings, and in a few cases even smiles, with several of his employees. Curious, Q blinks. He’d not been aware of how many of his minions are no longer at all wary of Bond.
He’s not sure if it’s a good or a bad thing.
Before he has time to meditate on it properly, Bond appears in the doorway. He even knocks politely on the wide open door, and waits for Q invite him in, whereas the Bond from before would have simply marched in.
Q’s both curious and a little confused as he looks at the man sitting in front of him, but he hides it under the cool façade of the Quartermaster.
“007. To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“Hello Q, I’ve missed you,” Bond replies with a smile, and Q can already imagine those words being repeated through word-of-mouth and coded messages between his minions and whichever other people have been taking part in the betting pool.
Perhaps this open door policy he’d recently adopted for Bond’s visits is not such a great idea, after all.
“Did you expect me to return the sentiment?” Q asks with a raised eyebrow. “I’m afraid I’ve been much too busy since your sudden departure to entertain any such notions.”
Bond simply chuckles, and Q tries his best not to notice the tan he’s acquired and the laugh lines around the mesmerising blue of his eyes. “If I didn’t know better I’d say that you’re not happy that I’m back.”
“Don’t you? Know better, I mean?” Q asks, and marvels at the effortless way they seem to slide right back into the banter they’ve always shared both on and off the comms. (His traitorous heart wonders if the flirtation will make a reappearance, too, but his brain firmly tells it to shut up and leave any such hopes in the romance novels where they belong. Q just wishes that his internal organs were less annoying.)
“Did you not receive my postcards?” Bond asks, and tilts his head much like an owl as he looks at Q with those bright blue eyes of his.
“I did,” Q says, wishing that having Bond’s attention fully focused on him like this wouldn't be quite so dangerous to his peace of mind. Especially as he’s not had the experience in over two months.
There had been postcards, two in total. One had been sent during the first week of Bond’s holiday from France, and it had contained only one line.
Thank you for the car, she’s a delight. Wish you were here, JB
The second card had arrived after a month and a half, and had included a curious hint about 006’s mission that had been ongoing at the time. It had been a big part of why Q had been able to save 006’s hide when the agent, in his typical reckless way, had gone and fanned the flames under the seats of several very powerful people a bit too vigorously and literally. An explosion or two had also been part of the package, probably in Bond’s honour if Q knows anything about Trevelyan.
And he does, much to his regret.
Trevelyan is almost as bad as Bond, though to his credit, he doesn’t flirt with Q in the same way as Bond does. His flirting contains an amount of distance in it that Bond’s simply doesn’t, and Q has concluded that 006 and 007 must have had words about the complicated thing that there is between him and Bond, whatever that really is. Q believes that only Bond knows for sure, and so far he hasn’t been too forthcoming about it with Q, bloody spy that he is.
Sure, Q thought that Bond leaving resolved whatever thing there was once and for all, but apparently he was mistaken.
After all, the second postcard had also included a line about Bond thinking about him.
“Good, I would have hated for them to have gotten lost along the way,” Bond says, bringing Q back from his reverie.
“Yes, well, they did arrive in a timely manner. Thank you for the hint, it was ever so helpful,” Q acknowledges.
“It was my pleasure,” Bond smiles.
Ignoring what that smile does to his insides - those bloody stupid internal organs of his were at it, again - Q tries to steer the conversation back to the topic at hand. Not that they had had that clear a topic before, but still. ”l’d hate to rush you, but does this appointment have an actual purpose? Only I have other things that I could be doing, and if I’m not entirely mistaken, you’ve another appointment with Psych in about twenty minutes.”
Bond doesn’t look like he minds Q’s words. Instead, his smile deepens, and Q wastes a moment in admiring what it does to the man’s face before realising what he’s done.
“Why, Q, I didn’t know that you were quite this aware of my schedule,” Bond says. “What with you being so busy and all.”
“You needn’t sound so smug about it,” Q counters, “I’m only doing my duty as your Quartermaster.”
“I’m sure you are,” Bond grins, but before Q has the chance to say anything else, he produces a big parcel from the bag that Q only belatedly realises is there on the floor next to Bond’s chair. “This is for you,” the man says and puts it down on the table in front of Q.
“Oh, um, thank you,” Q says and stares at the carefully wrapped parcel. He did not expect it, but perhaps he should have. After all, Bond has a habit of bringing him something from his missions whenever possible. And even if his absence hadn’t actually been a mission, Bond is still Bond.
“Well, aren’t you going to open it?” Bond asks.
Q gives him a mild look, but doesn’t bother with a verbal reply. Instead, he does as he’s told and tentatively peels open the wrapping.
There is tea, of course, as Q getting tea from Bond has been a tradition for as long as Q can remember; and while it started as an inside joke of sorts (he used to get Earl Grey from various different locations, always in packages written in local languages, and occasionally with a bit of a twist taste-wise) it has evolved into a cherished ritual that they both enjoy, as Q has a habit of offering Bond a taste or a few of whichever tea he receives.
This time, there are three different packages of tea. One is the expected Earl Grey, this time with added rose petals, and the other two are a green tea and a jasmine blend from Cambodia as well as a canister that claims to contain 12 Individually Wrapped Heart Shaped Blooming Tea Flowers.
Q blinks and glances at Bond. He’s starting to detect a theme, there.
Moving the teas aside for the moment, Q reaches inside the parcel and takes out a box of Mozart Balls and a rubber duck wearing Lederhosen, which are clearly from Austria. Next, he finds a set of beer cosmetics (including shampoo, hair balm, shower gel, hand cream and lip balm) by Manufaktura, which Q knows are from Prague.
Briefly, he wonders if Bond has any ulterior motives behind his gifts. He probably does, but Q isn’t going to be the one to ask, that he immediately decides. Instead, he picks up the final item, a beautiful Mekong quilt from Cambodia that is the perfect size for him to curl up into while watching telly on the sofa.
“These are all lovely,” he tells Bond, feeling oddly touched. “Thank you.”
“And then there’s also this,” Bond says and offers Q a familiar key. Q accepts it gingerly, and then looks Bond straight in the eye.
“There better not be a scratch on her,” he says threateningly. Bond doesn’t look appropriately cowed, though, but when had he ever? Still, giving the car to Bond had caused M to regard him with a certain look in his eyes and wordlessly shake his head before departing, and that had not been an experience Q particularly wants to repeat any time soon. Especially as it had happened in front of most of his minions.
“Not even one,” Bond assures him. “I took very good care of her.”
Better than of Dr Swann, Q almost asks. But he manages to keep the words unspoken, and instead he just bites at his lower lip and nods.
“Well, thank you for returning her unharmed,” Q finally says. “Though I will reserve the right to retract my thanks until after I have actually seen her with my own eyes,” he adds.
Bond chuckles. “I would expect nothing less.”
Afterwards, there is a moment of awkwardness (on Q’s part, that is, as Bond seems to be perfectly happy to just sit there and watch him) before Q collects himself enough to be able to offer Bond some of the tea he’d just received from the man. Bond accepts, and they leave his office together, with Bond a solid presence next to him, almost too close for comfort.
*
“Did you see that?”
“No, did you hear that?”
R looks at the other technicians and only barely manages not to roll her eyes. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves quite just yet, children,” she says mildly. “He’s only just returned.”
“With presents for the boss,” points out Gemma, with a ”so there” clearly hidden in the tone of her voice.
“And the way he looks at him,” adds Vijay with a slightly dreamy look in his eyes.
R wants to groan. She’s surrounded by utter bloody romantics, which was definitely not what she signed up for when she accepted the position of R. At least Q himself has never been quite this overt in the way he expresses his feelings towards a certain blond menace of a double-oh.
Then she sees the way Q glances at Bond (covertly, or so he seems to think) when they make their way towards the kitchen area.
Well, he at least tries, bless him.
“All right, then,” she says when the pair are out of earshot, “you all know what you need to do.”
There are nods all around, and R watches as one by one, they all move back to their work stations. She sighs, softly, and thinks that perhaps now they would finally get some kind of closure.