Work Text:
The meeting is, strictly speaking, unnecessary.
There’s the matter of the evaluation form Q was given, but that’s sitting in his desk, already filled since before the time for the meet was even set. Breaking all kinds of rules there, but Q doesn’t see the point in performing an actual evaluation. For one thing, he’s in no way qualified to make any kind of judgment on Bond’s state, physical or mental. And with the way things have unfolded, he doubts anyone would bench Bond even if Q proclaimed him absolutely unfit for duty. Hence the pre-filled evaluation form, that is positive in the most noncommittal language Q could come up with.
There’s the matter of meeting Bond at all, and that makes Q slightly anxious in a way that feels very similar to anticipation. Excitement almost, if the situation wasn’t so serious. Still, it’s unnecessary. Does it count as fieldwork? Because for all his other skills, Q is certainly not cleared for fieldwork. But when asked to meet Bond off-site, Q agreed easily.
Despite all efforts to make MI6 as modern as possible, there’s still an air of mystery hanging around the double-oh agents, the very concept of them, and unfortunately Q isn’t as immune to it as he pretends to be. He’s watched the security recordings already, strictly for equipment planning reasons of course, so he knows all he needs to know. But he’s curious to see what Bond is like in person.
Now, walking through the halls of the museum, two minutes early, Q isn’t sure how this is supposed to go. He’s been promoted over the corpse of his predecessor, so he’s new to this unique state of being in a position of power and at the same time being support personnel. He figures it puts him on something like even ground with Bond.
Bond, who is already there, looking at the Temeraire with an unexpected intensity. Whoever chose this specific room for this has an unfortunate sense of humor.
Even having seen the footage, Q is surprised at how tired Bond looks. Not just the kind of tired a partially healed injury makes one, or so it seems to him. He would hesitate to call Bond old, but he does look his age.
But it’s all hazards of their job. Bond is, after all, doing much better than many of their late colleagues.
The painting is as good a place to start the conversation as anything. Bond looks at him, a glance at first, though Q doesn’t for a moment believe that glance isn’t enough to let Bond know a dozen different things about Q. Then Bond looks him over more carefully. There’s a moment of stillness, and then nothing really changes in Bond’s expression, but Q is suddenly sure Bond has made some kind of conclusion about him.
Bond hums something that might be an agreement, or equally as likely a request to never speak to him about art again.
“Would you like to take this conversation elsewhere?” Bond’s focus is on the Temeraire again. Q wonders what it is about him that makes him so easily recognizable to Bond. Well, other than him being the one who showed up at the agreed upon time and place.
“Of course, if you’d like.” There isn’t much of a safety risk here, though as they now know any risk at all is too much. If Bond wants a more private location, Q has no reason to disagree. Really, he’d prefer that. Even here, with as few visitors around as there are and with the cameras strategically malfunctioning, he isn’t keen on handing off a gun in full view of anyone who bothers to look.
“Hotel?” Bond asks with something approaching a smile, too sharp and shadowed. And that seems just as unnecessary as holding this meeting at all, but Q nods and follows Bond. There might be more to discuss than just the equipment and travel plans. Or Bond might be understandably paranoid after recent events. Or maybe there’s no good reason, but Q is too curious for his own good to object.
One very short cab ride and a hotel check-in later Q finds out it’s definitely that last one.
More specifically, he figures it out when Bond steps into his personal space and very firmly kisses him the moment the elevator doors slide shut. Q is too surprised at first to react in any way at all. Bond is a good kisser, is his first coherent and very unhelpful thought. Followed by, Bond tastes like black coffee, unsweetened.
Before Q can decide if he should put a stop to it, Bond is already taking a step back and breaking the kiss. If Q thought his expression was intense before, in the museum, that had nothing on how Bond is looking at Q now.
There might have been rumors about the double-oh agents that Q dismissed as exaggeration sooner than he should have.
The way Bond undresses him with his eyes is part exhilarating and part confusing. Like there’s been a step in their very short acquaintance that Q missed, something that led them from being strangers to colleagues to whatever is happening now. The heat of the kiss and the way breathing steadily feels like an unexpected chore doesn’t stop Q from keeping his very practiced calm. He raises an eyebrow and hopes he looks more inquisitive than shocked.
“Oh so forward of you,” he says and doesn’t sound breathless at all. Instead he sounds like he’s flirting, which might be worse. He’s just been kissed half senseless by someone he possibly somewhat admires. It’s the worst.
“Is it?” Bond isn’t touching him, but the space between them feels charged in a way Q is unprepared for. It’s dawning on him that he wasn’t prepared for any of this. “I rather thought forward would have been insisting we find an empty restroom back at the museum.” The way Bond says it makes it clear it’s something he absolutely considered doing, before deciding on the hotel instead.
“Tempting at the moment, but I expect you would have found that beneath your professional standards,” Bond adds. He slides his hand under Q’s coat and puts it on his waist, palm radiating heat through his shirt. The touch feels almost burning, hotter than it could possibly be; it must all be in Q’s head, but it doesn’t make it any less distracting.
Professional standards. For a wild moment Q considers that working at MI6 might have sides he has not been warned about, very pornographic sides. And then he finally makes the connection. Professional. Bond thinks he’s a professional. Q stays incredibly calm for how stunning the realization feels.
That sideways glance at the museum that Q expected told Bond everything there is to know about him. It did not tell Bond who Q is at all. For a moment Q feels indignant that Bond abandoned their arranged meeting in favor of entertaining an escort. Except of course the escort in question is him. Because double-oh-seven has mistaken him for a sex worker.
This should be where Q corrects that assumption. It really is the only possible way out of this mess, which has somehow continued way past the line of madness.
Should be.
Q blinks, looks at the tired lines of Bond’s face and the smile that doesn’t look entirely forced. There are several hours left until Bond should leave for his flight.
“You might have been surprised,” is what Q says and attempts a smile of his own. Bond’s smile loses another fraction of tension. The second kiss is just as good as the first one. Better, now that Q isn’t quite as surprised by it.
The elevator doors open with a soft sound and Bond guides Q out into the hallway without breaking the kiss. They’re well past the point where Q should have cleared all this up. Might as well go with it.
--
James’ phone alarm wakes him up in what feels like only minutes after dozing off.
The first issue he has with it is that it interrupts unexpectedly pleasant sleep. The second, far more interesting issue is that he never set up an alarm.
He’s alert, assessing the room, but no one else is there, not even the man James distinctly remembers lying next to as he drifted off in exhausted contentment.
The alarm keeps ringing.
When James follows the sound and finds the phone on the coffee table, there’s also a case and an envelope atop it. Plane tickets, a gun and a transmitter. ‘Don’t miss your plane, 007,’ says the alarm text on his phone. Back to work, apparently. He might grow to appreciate the new Q, whoever that is, if their methods are always this convenient. Though he wonders if the agent tasked with the delivery broke in before or after his guest left.
For the first time in a long while James feels almost refreshed. Really, he should stand up work meetings more often.
He loses the gun, gets shot at and gets another delivery from Q branch before he has an actual face to face interaction with the new Q. The new Q that he very much recognizes.
Well.
James can’t suppress a genuine smile. Now he is very sure he’s going to like the methods of this new Q.