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Through professional and personal travel, James Bond had visited many countries around the world, and had the opportunity to try the best and worst of the cuisines on offer. From fancy restaurants boasting many awards and the best quality foods and champagnes, to vendors on streets corners in conditions that would make food hygiene inspectors cry, he’d developed a palate that was happy with whatever it was given. He had a preference for the type of places that required formal attire, but he was happy anywhere really, particularly at home where he could cook himself.
He quite enjoyed cooking, trying to recreate some of the recipes he’d sampled abroad, and it was always a handy skill to have when it came to seduction; being good in the kitchen seemed to be a solid way to elevate someone’s interest.
Not that he was in his kitchen now wearing only boxers and a shirt, placing out ingredients in the name seduction; this was for Q, and he wasn’t so much cooking but baking, something he had a lot less experience with. He’d thought it would be similar, but pairing vegetables and meats with the correct combination of seasoning and cooking style was not the same at all.
So he’d ran a quick trip to the shop with a list he’d quickly googled:
325g plain flour (sifted)
225g caster sugar
200g butter
1tsp baking powder
1 tsp canilla extract
A pinch of salt
1-2 eggs
He tapped on the electric scales, spooning 325g of plain flour into the tub, then sifting it into the mixing bowl. Next was the caster sugar, 200g, close enough, added it to the bowl and gave it a stir. He sliced the butter which conveniently came in a 200g pack and added that, along with the baking powder, vanilla and a dash of salt. Stirring didn’t seam to be working now, so he rolled up his sleeves and began kneading the mixture together, cracking in 2 eggs part way through. He added a third as he tried to make sure there were no more pockets of flour left.
Once the mixture seemed the right consistency, he started separating into different bowls, adding food colourings and a little splash of bourbon, kneading each one carefully, and regretting not getting gloves as traces of the dye clung to his skin even after washing his hands thoroughly. He pulled out a baking tray and rubbed some butter over it and started crafting his cookies.
He didn’t have any stencils, so he moulded the dough in the approximate shapea, and used a knife to trim bits away. They first few he made were cat faces, he used the different coloured mixtures for the fur colour, the collars and eyes. He then tried a dog, as he knew Q liked dogs, but they were less independent than cats which wasn’t good for long workdays, and then fashioned a gun, a car, and a few other gadgets and tools he’d seen being used.
Once satisfied, he place them in the oven 170 degrees C and set the timer for 20 minutes. Passing the time with a glass of the remaining bourbon and some quiche he’d picked up, he settled down as the aroma of baking cookies filled his flat. When the timer beeped and he turned the over off, opening it to inspect the goods, he cursed.
“Well, it’s the thought that counts.”
+++
He got in around midday, and after searching what seemed like the entirety of Q-Branch with not a single minion seeming to know their boss’ whereabouts, he eventually found Q in Moneypenny’s office, chatting away over lunch. They stopped talking the moment he entered, Q all but ignoring him as Eve turned a fiery glare on him. “And what do you want?”
He knew why she was angry as he looked over Q, the dark purpled bruising circling his right eye, and smattering of colour streaking the inner corner of his left, standing out starkly against his pale skin. “I made these,” he said, thrusting the box towards his Quartermaster, awkwardly holding it there as boffin made no move to take it, only raising a questioning eyebrow.
“Is it going to explode?”
“No,” James grinned. “They’re cookies.”
Q slowly reached forward to take the box, exchanging a look with Moneypenny. “You made me cookies?”
“To say sorry, for the…” he gestured at Q’s face.
Moneypenny leaned in close as Q carefully opened the box, then let out a snort as Q looked back at Bond incredulously. “What…” he held one up, turning it around. “You made a dinosaur?”
“That’s a dog.”
Eve picked up another, “and a purse.”
“That’s a gun.”
“And these demonic things?” Q asked, poking a few of them around in the box.
Bond sighed. “They’re supposed to be cats.”
Q frowned up at him, “Why is one of them decapitated?”
Bond peered into the box to see which one he was referring to. “Oh, that was supposed to be a red collar. It looked better before baking.” Q took out a cookie that resembled a squashed van. “That was the Aston Martin.”
Q dropped it in, picking up another. “I want to say umbrella, but I’m guessing flamethrower?”
“See, they’re not all bad.”
Q stared at him for a moment longer before breaking out in a smile, setting the box on Eve’s desk. “Okay, okay. Thank you, Bond. It’s appreciated.”
“Oh, also,” Bond reached into his bag, taking out a small package and handed it over. “And I suppose I’ll leave you two to your lunch.” He gave a parting nod and left.
Eve leaned against her desk and smirked at Q. “So what else did he get you?”
He started to open it, then paused. “You don’t think this one explodes?”
“If he is any sense, not in front of me it won’t.”
He pulled the top of the packaging off, and looked inside, turning it for an item of clothing to slide out. Dropping the packaging in the wastepaper basket, he shook out the shirt and, after a moment of bemusement, let out a laugh. He turned it round, holding it up against himself to show Moneypenny.
In bold, red letters it said: “I survived James Bond and all I got was this bloody shirt”