Work Text:
It was closing in on 1am, and Q was shut away in his office pouring over the paperwork that had occupied the last 7 hours of his life. Naturally, it was the least favourite part of his job, reports had to be filed on every little thing, and while there was a secure server most of it was stored on, the majority of proposals for prototypes had to start on actual paper, and he preferred to handwrite as he’d add sketches of designs to annotate; he felt it was easier, though it was far more time consuming. Granted, it wouldn’t take nearly as much time if he didn’t leave the work to pile up, preferring to do almost anything else, so every few days he would allocate time to just paperwork. Just get it done all in one go, and try and forget that there’d be more waiting for him when he opened his eyes the next morning.
His focus was drifting, though, letters seeming to dance around as they came in and out of focus, and he could feel a headache forming behind his left eye. He was desperate to finish, but finally admitted momentary defeat and got up to walk around, try and get heart rate up, restore some energy. As he stood though, the change in position obviously rattled his inside as an obnoxiously loud grumbling resonated in his abdomen. Holding a hand to his stomach, he glanced around nervously as though anyone might have heard, but there were only a few people currently in the bullpen, and only him in his private office.
He thought he should maybe go in search of food, trying to remember when he’d last eaten and Eve Moneypenny’s voice drifted across his mind “If you have to think about it, it’s been too long.”
He made his way to the break room, placing his scrabble mug by the kettle he took another out, his pokéball shaped mug, a gift from Moneypenny. He collected the tub of leek, sweetcorn and potato soup and poured it into the pokéball, placing it the microwave and turning the dial to 2:30. As the machine began whirring away, he filled the kettle and placed it onto to boil, then leaned against the counter, humming.
“What’s that tune?”
Q started, and turned to see Ryan Miller, 003, leaning in the doorway. He was 6 foot 1, dark haired and blue eyed, as attractive as all the double 0’s appeared to be, though currently he had an arm in brace, courtesy of a recent mission gone wrong. “Long time no see,” Q smiled at him.
“You were just humming the Pokémon theme?”
“No I wasn’t,” he said, trying to sound nonchalant.
Ryan chuckled and stepped fully into the room. “How come you’re here so late then?”
“Paperwork. What about you?”
“I’m, ah, a little lacking in the stamina department. Less likely to bump into anyone in the gym at this time.”
“That bothers you? It’s not like you don’t have a good reason to have… lost a little stamina.”
“Do I? I completely misjudged a mark, not a good look on my record.”
“Nor mine.” Q looked him over, and crossed his arms. “If it makes you feel better, I could come and work out with you. I mean, if you want to see what real lack if physical stamina looks like.” He let out a small laugh, and Ryan grinned, shaking his head.
“You’re just trying to get out of paperwork.”
“That’s just a fortuitous consequence.” Q sighed. “Although leaving it longer isn’t going to make it go away. Or maybe the filing fairy will come and click their fingers and poof, all done.”
“What?”
Q blinked, looking up at Ryan whose face held a mix of confusion and amusement. “The filing fai… I’m tired, Ry. I think I’m really tired,” he giggled at himself.
He jumped as a sudden *pop* sounded behind him, and he whirled around to see the microwave flash, and emit a fzzzzt as it died. “Shit.” He rushed forward, yanking the plug from the wall socket and opened it, a flush of smoke drifted out and he ineffectively waved it aside as his glasses steamed, he caught sight of “fire, Ryan! There’s fire!”
He felt Ryan tugging him out the way as he is polishing his glasses on his sleeve, and heard the fire extinguished dousing the errant machine in CO2.
“What the hell were you making?”
Q froze, frowned, and replaced his glasses on his nose. “Bond?” And it is Bond standing there with the fire extinguisher in one hand. “But where was,” he turned round to find Ryan was standing right next to him. “Oh.”
“Hello,” Ryan grinned.
Bond had grabbed a tea towel and was removing the mug from the microwave, wrinkling his nose at the contents. “What is this?”
“It’s soup, Bond. Potato and leek. And sweetcorn. I made it.”
Bond raised an eyebrow at him. “You set the microwave on fire with soup?”
Q shrugged. “Everything hates me today.”
“Mayhap another fortuitous circumstance.” Ryan wiggled his eyebrows.
“Hm?”
“I could eat too. We could order something better than your soup.”
“I feel like getting some fresh air, to be honest.”
“How about Maccy D’s? The one on Victoria street is open.”
Q clucked his tongue. “I’ve not been to McDonald’s in a long time.”
“You alright with that?”
“Yeah. Yes, I suppose.” He shifted as he became aware of Bond watching them, eyes darting between the two. “Fancy joining us?”
Bond gave one of his half smirks. “Sure.”
“Okay, let me grab my bag,” and Q hurried out the room, missing the look Ryan gave Bond as he did.
+++
They make an odd group, Bond in his typical suit, Ryan in navy slacks, grey shit and faux leather jacket, and Q in a tartan cardigan and oversized parka. There are few customers when they enter though, looking to be businesspeople, like themselves, catching a late-night meal. They placed their order at the counter, a large quarter pounder cheeseburger meal for Bond, a big mac meal for Ryan, and a veggie burger meal for Q. Selecting a corner table, they sat with their food and started eating in silence. The agents were habitually scanning the area, watching the people, as Q scanned for his own possible concerns. Bits if dropped food, smears of sauces, a spilled drink. He reflexively cringed as he imagined the sticky tugging on the sole of his shoe.
Bond chose that moment to drop a chip on the table, and wasted no time picking it up and popping it in his mouth. Q could barely repress a shudder, thinking of all the bacteria on the surface, all the people who had been in and touched this space, bringing lord knows what with them. When had these tables even last been cleaned?
Ryan nudged him, catching his eyes and leaned closer to whisper, “You doing alright?”
“You know me, mind a-whirling.” But he offered a placating smile. “I’m fine, Ry.”
Ryan returned his smile, brushing the back of his hand down Q’s arm. “People come here all the time, and survive. No need to overthink it.”
Q started shifting again as he felt Bond’s eyes boring into him, and he felt suddenly awkward. He met the agent’s eyes, half daring him to say something, and half willing him to disappear. Who’s idea was it drag Bond along to McDonald’s anyway?
Oh, right. But still, he’d only asked because he thought Bond wouldn’t want to.
He felt fingers brush against his, just a moment that could have been an accident, but Ryan asks, “So how is the paperwork going?” and he’s glad to have some conversation going.
“I have a few more hours of work there, I think. Should be done by burning.” He paused, frowning. “Morning,” he corrected hurriedly. “Should be done by morning.”
Ryan tsked. “Or, it might benefit everyone if you leave it until morning, and finish it in the afternoon.”
“On the other hand,” Bond interjected. “That explains the microwave.”
Q snorted. “For the love of God, don’t let psych hear that. They’ll never let me back in R&D.”
“We can’t let that happen,” Ryan laughed.
“No,” Q grinned, leaning slightly against him. “Please don’t. I need my outlets.”
Bond was watching them curiously now as Ryan slid an arm around the slighter man’s shoulders, and more intriguingly, Q let it him. “I think that’s a cause we can all get behind, right Bond?”
Bond met Miller’s eyes, and finally understood the expression there; sombre concern. And he nodded.
“Absolutely.”