Work Text:
Okumura never expected working in espionage to be like the movies.
And frankly, he didn’t care if it was.
After college Okumura had done everything right. He got an office job. He worked hard and kept his head down. He set aside his less than legal hacking.
And what had that gotten him? A year of long hours working for little pay, and less recognition, for a company that cared more about profit than people.
So, Okumura turned in his resignation letter and applied for a job at CIRO. Because if he was going to work long hours for little pay he might as well do it somewhere where he didn’t feel like he was dying a little every day.
It had been a standard job interview, right up until Takashima set a laptop down in front of him and said with a smile,
“I want you to try to hack into CIRO.”
And Okumura felt his blood pressure rise because he hadn’t hacked anything recently but he definitely had done a few things that he would never admit to a government official--especially the Director’s secretary.
Takashima’s smile widened and Okumura wondered if she had somehow read his mind. Instead, she glanced at her watch. “You have thirty minutes.”
Okumura didn’t mean to actually try to hack CIRO. He was still convinced that this was some kind of elaborate trap. Except...the more that he poked and prodded at the firewalls that guarded CIRO’s secrets the more he found himself fascinated by them. They were elegantly arranged in creative and inventive patterns and when Okumura tried to pull them apart he was brutally shut out. It was a fascinating puzzle…
“Times up,” said Takashima, snapping Okumura out of the hole he had fallen into.
And Okumura suddenly remembered where he was and what he had been doing. And he couldn’t help but wonder if this hole he dug was his own grave--
Okumura jumped as the phone on Takashima’s desk rang. She answered briskly and Okumura’s eyes slid towards the door as he started to plan his escape.
Takashima gave a short sound of confirmation before hanging up and folding her hands neatly on the desk.
“What do you know about Q Branch?”
And that...got Okumura’s attention.
---
Okumura’s first day in Q Branch was the day 002 died.
002 had apparently been undercover for a month. Breaking radio silence when his cover was blown in Istanbul. There was a story to tell there considering the agent wasn’t supposed to be anywhere near Istanbul.
Okumura was trying not to listen to the chatter over the comms but it was difficult not to.
He was baffled by 002 and Q’s interactions. Flirty and antagonistic and sometimes professional and sometimes very unprofessional. The results of their teamwork and how well they knew each other was clear even to an outsider like himself.
The mission also escalated faster than Okumura thought possible.
In the time that it took Okumura to get a fresh cup of coffee from the break room, 002 had somehow gotten ahold of a motorcycle and was racing it...across rooftops. And Okumura didn’t know what was more ridiculous--the fact that 002 had gotten himself somehow into this situation in the first place or that the mercenary group he had been sent to infiltrate were, for whatever reason, still somehow in pursuit of him.
Q’s tone was understandably terse as he spouted off directions. Okumura watched as his fingers flew across his keyboard. Q was typing while watching the screens before him while delivering precise directions to 002 (all the while finding places to sprinkle in quips).
Q was obviously brilliant. The things he was able to accomplish and the speed at which he did them was mind-boggling. He was creative, inventive, and devastating. Every bit the genius that the dark web whispered about.
He got 002 off of the rooftops and back onto the city streets. Losing his roof pursuers, but gaining two on their own motorcycles and four in a Range Rover.
Not that Okumura would ever admit it, but he had almost fallen asleep that morning while transcribing an assignment 009 had been on in Johannesburg. After finding out Okumura was fluent in English the other Q Branch techs had been more than happy to dump the assignment on him. Okumura was quick to find out why. 009 had a calm and soothing voice and had talked about the export of ore and slag. For hours.
Fortunately, one of the senior techs had taken pity on Okumura and let him also sift through the information 009 had gathered off of his fellow dinner party guests. 009 had somehow managed to talk to each and every one of them long enough to clone the contents of their phones. Okumura flagged a few emails and text messages that might be linked to the illegal export of conflict diamonds out of Africa.
He had assumed that would be the highlight of his day.
Now Okumura couldn’t get the sound of gunfire out of his ears. The rapid, pop-pop of a semi-automatic rang through Q Branch. Clear even through the comms.
002 was weaving through traffic. He managed to lose the two pursuers on motorcycles. One got run off the road and crashed into a market stall. The other tried to follow 002 through an intersection and was hit by a truck. The red dot of 002’s tracker was indifferent to the destruction following in his wake as it marked his progress through the city streets.
The Range Rover was still closing in fast as 002 reached the Bosphorus Bridge. The sound of gunfire was still loud. But the sound of 002’s breathing was even louder. The inhale and exhale was still steady. And 002’s voice was still calm. And then Range Rover sideswiped 002, throwing him from the motorcycle--and over the railing. Okumura gasped as he watched 002 fall into the river.
Okumura couldn’t turn his eyes away from the line that represented 002’s heartbeat. His heartbeat had been rapid, but now it slowed and kept slowing. Okumura watched in horror as the peaks weaken--as he watched a man fucking die.
“Agent down.”
Q let out a long sigh as he pulled off his headset. Running his hands through his hair a few times before resettling behind his workstation.
Okumura looked from the Quartermaster to the screens where the flat heart rate of 002 was still displayed and back again. And Okumura found himself blurting out,
“Aren’t we going to do something?”
Q looked around obviously searching for a face to go with the voice. His eyes settled on Okumura and he smirked as he took the cup of coffee from Okumura without asking if it was for him (it wasn’t) and without any word of thanks. He took a sip. Okumura’s question was already half-forgotten as Q refocused on the half-built computer before him.
“We did all we could.”
“But--”
Q cut him off. He turned just far enough to call over his shoulder, “Someone teach the new kid the rules.”
The Quartermaster then completely forgot about Okumura as he returned to his work. As if the loss of CIRO’s best agent was a normal, everyday occurrence.
And Okumura realized...Q was a genius. He was also a total and complete asshole.
Which, of course, raised Okumura’s hackles as he stalked back to the break room in order to get himself another cup of coffee.
---
Okumura was already penning his resignation letter in his head as he walked into the break room. He nodded to Seto who was eating his bento at the table. They had met that morning at orientation with two other new hires. Yuki was joining the mechanical engineering department, Yui was a tech like Okumura and Seto was hired for R&D.
They had bonded over the staggering amount of paperwork they had to sign. The number of non-disclosure agreements suddenly made sense considering Okumura had just watched someone die.
Okumura only made it halfway to the coffee machine. He was distracted by the guy wearing gray sweatpants and a gray sweatshirt with CIRO printed on it. He was sitting on the counter near the fridge. Chewing. Loudly. As he ate natto. With his mouth open. Obviously disgusted with the natto...and yet...was insisting on powering through it.
Okumura glanced at Seto who just shrugged.
The guy audibly swallowed and then gagged a little and then gasped for air and then pointed at Okumura. “Hey, you--”
“Okumura.”
“Okumura. I’m Sawamura.”
“Okay,” said Okumura decidedly unimpressed.
“Did I hear the comms right? Did 002 die again?”
“Yeah. He died. What do you mean...again? What does that--”
“What did Q say?” interrupted Sawamura as he jumped off the counter.
“Q said, ‘we did all that we could’,” bit out Okumura.
Sawamura didn’t seem to hear his tone or chose to ignore it. He shrugged as he opened the fridge and put the container of natto away. He closed the door with his foot.
“If that’s what Q said then it’s true. The guy is an asshole, but he’s never wrong.” Sawamura then beamed at Okumura. “We just have to trust 002.”
Okumura frowned. “002’s dead and I didn’t know him.”
“Oh,” said Sawamura in a tone that suggested it had never occurred to him that someone could not know 002. “Then trust me when I say 002 is the best. He’s too good to die.”
“And I’m just supposed to trust you? I don’t know you either.”
“You have to trust someone. Especially if you work here. It might as well be me,” replied Sawamura still with that frustratingly casual tone. He then looked at Okumura as if seeing him for the first time. “Wait. Are you new?”
Okumura wanted to growl. “Yes.”
Sawamura studied him for a moment and then broke out into another wide smile. “Well, I look forward to working with you. I’m sure we’ll make a great team!”
“I’m quitting!” declared Okumura in frustration as he watched Sawamura start to walk away.
Sawamura threw a casual wave over his shoulder. “You don’t seem like a quitter to me. Later!”
Okumura really did let out a groan as he collapsed into a chair next to Seto. “Who was that guy?”
Seto was packing up his bento. He paused in order to glance at Okumura. “Unless there’s another Sawamura who works here...that was 001.”
Okumura stopped slouching. “That guy is a 00?”
“I heard they are an eccentric lot. Guess you have to be,” said Seto with a smile as he tied the furoshiki around his bento. “Do you really think 002 is dead?”
“...probably.”
Seto nodded. “Are you really quitting?”
Okumura glared at the doorway where Sawamura--001--had disappeared. “No.”
---
002 was buried two weeks later.
Okumura was wearing the same cheap suit that he had worn for his college graduation. The tag on his collar was scratching the back of his neck. Despite feeling uncomfortable and out of place, Okumura was glad he had dragged the thing out from the back of his closet. This was, by far, the most official funeral he had ever attended.
The weather was dismal. A faint mist had been falling all afternoon. Casting a dreary atmosphere over an already somber procession.
Six American soldiers in full dress uniform acted as pallbearers. Flanking each side of the casket with an American flag draped over it. Okumura flinched as seven service members fired off the three volley salute. A solemn song was played on a bugle and the flag was folded into a triangle and presented to a large, sobbing man in the front row.
Okumura swallowed as he looked down at his dress shoes. He glanced at Q standing next to him under his own large umbrella and was annoyed to see that the Quartermaster was on his phone.
Q usually dressed like an old man. As if his cardigans and pleated pants and terrible plaid suits could disguise the fact that he was one of the most dangerous people on the planet. That with a few keystrokes he could sink stock markets and topple governments.
002 killed people...but the Quartermaster knew where all of the bodies were buried.
Used to kill people, amended Okumura as he watched the casket being slowly lowered into the ground. Everyone else seemed content to pretend the man hadn’t died, but Okumura was determined not to disrespect his sacrifice.
While Okumura’s one formal suit was terrible, something that he suffered through wearing once every few years, Q’s black suit looked tailor-made for him. The smooth black fabric only emphasized his height and streamlined his frame. He looked stark and imposing. He looked like the man Okumura had expected to meet his first day in Q Branch.
And yet...the suit now seemed like an excessive and unnecessary expense for the Quartermaster to have undertaken.
Okumura was still wondering about the suit when an American soldier ducked under Q’s umbrella. He was dressed in a formal uniform like all of the other American soldiers in attendance--dark navy coat, blue trousers, and black beret. The only difference was that this American soldier looked a hell of a lot like 002.
The soldier settled into a parade rest as he asked, “What did I miss?”
“It was a beautiful ceremony,” replied Q in a dry monotone as he continued to study his phone. “I sang a dirge for you. Shame you missed it.”
Okumura felt his eyes go wide because the American soldier didn’t just look like 002--it was 002. Alive and looking fantastic for a man who fell off of a bridge and drowned two weeks ago.
002’s posture remained stiff but his eyes lit up with humor as he replied, “Always knew I’d be late to my own funeral.”
At that, Q looked up from his phone and grinned. “002.”
“Quartermaster.”
“Welcome back.”
“Good to be back. Did it work?”
And Okumura watched as the warmth left 002’s eyes. Settling into an expression Okumura never wanted to see directed at him. He unconsciously took a half step away.
Q, on the other hand, leaned into 002’s space as he showed off whatever was on his phone. “Facial recognition confirms. Left side, third row, seven seats from the right. Bastard wanted a front-row seat.”
Okumura felt his eyebrows climb at the rare burst of vindictiveness from Q. It was almost as shocking as the way 002 seemed to soften. Breaking his stance in order to place a hand on Q’s lower back as he said quietly,
“We knew he would.”
“True,” conceded Q. “I still don’t like it.”
“This was your idea, Quartermaster.”
“It’s a terrible idea, an awful idea, I don’t know why you agreed to it,” grumbled Q as he furiously typed out something on his phone. He paused long enough to look 002 up and down. “Though I did get to see you in your dress blues.”
“Can’t look sloppy for my own funeral,” replied 002. “You have someone covering my dad?”
“The best.”
Q didn’t elaborate and 002 didn’t push the issue. Okumura shifted from one foot to the other. He found himself...uncomfortable with that level of blind trust.
Okumura looked away from Q and 002 and instead turned his attention back to the proceedings. The formal ceremony had concluded and the funeral attendees had been lining up to throw flowers into the ground. With the final goodbyes finalized the crowd had started to disperse. There were only a handful of people left.
Including the man who had been sitting on the left side, third row, seven seats from the right.
“Well, then,” said 002 as he rolled his shoulders back. Resettling into the formal posture of a soldier. “Time to get to work.”
002 stepped out from under the umbrella.
And Okumura knew that something was going to happen. He was watching and waiting for it. And yet everything happened so fast he wasn’t exactly sure what had happened.
One moment 002 was tossing a flower into his own grave and the next the target was drawing a gun. And the remaining attendees drew on him. And Takashima was ushering the large, sobbing man, who Okumura assumed, was 002’s father away from the scene. Her own pistol drawn from...somewhere. And 002 knocked the target’s gun away. Losing his beret in the resulting scuffle. A scuffle that was short-lived as 002 pinned the target to the ground. Handcuffing the target’s hands behind his back before hauling him to his feet.
And...it was over.
And Okumura found himself frozen in place as his brain tried to process what he had just witnessed.
Q simply sighed. The sigh he used when something was a mild annoyance.
They watched the Americans drag the target away and Okumura was surprised when the Quartermaster answered the obvious question.
“He fought with 002 in Afghanistan. They were good friends once...before he started hiring his services to the highest bidder.”
Okumura nodded. “Was he the one who blew 002 cover in Istanbul?”
“Betrayed 002 the first chance he got.”
“Like you knew he would,” grudgingly admitted Okumura.
Q smiled at him as if he were a dog that had performed a particularly clever trick. Okumura narrowed his eyes at him. Which Q, of course, ignored.
“There are three unsaid rules in CIRO. The first is that 002 is never really dead. The second is to not kill him yourself.”
“And the last rule?”
Q’s smile turned sharp as he walked away. All teeth. Baring his fangs like any predator. “Don’t fall in love with him because he’s mine.”
Okumura glanced around hoping someone else had heard Q and could explain. Luckily or unluckily, R was standing not too far away.
“Yes,” said R in what must have been a response to the disbelieving look on Okumura’s face. “They’re always like that.”
R looked like a yankee with his dyed green hair and pierced ears. Not at all what Okumura was expecting from the second in command at Q Branch and head of the R&D department. He had expected more lab coats and glasses. Then again, anyone whose job it was to make pens explode had to be a little wild.
“You know, there’s a fourth unsaid rule at CIRO,” continued R with a grin. “Always bet on those two.”
Okumura nodded as he glanced at 002 and Q. Q had picked up 002’s beret off of the ground. Brushing it off before settling it back atop 002’s head. Q’s hands...lingered. And they were standing pretty darn close and looking at each other like--and Okumura frowned. Fake funeral or not, their sexual tension was extremely inappropriate.
Then again, he couldn’t deny the fact that any team who could take on death and win was worth betting on--it was then Okumura remembered something from his first day. The bet he had made with one of the senior R&D engineers. The one with the pink hair--
Okumura groaned. “I’m going to be buying everyone lunch for a week...”
R cackled as he slapped him on the back. “Welcome to Q Branch, kid.”