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“Marry me.”
Q blinks at his screen and glances down into the corner for the time. He didn't think he’d been at work long enough to start hallucinating.
“Q.” The hallucination chides, obviously trying to pull his attention.
He frowns and turns to look at it. It’s shockingly lifelike, right down to one of 007’s usual, ridiculously tailored, suits.
“I think I need to get some sleep.” Q tells the hallucination, turning a longing look at the unfinished project he’d been in the middle of. Not urgent, but very interesting.
“No.” The hallucination of 007 denies, leaning against the desk as though to prove he isn't leaving. “Not until you agree.”
“You know I’m really not that short on sleep, maybe this is a psychotic break.” Q wonders absently, picking up his half mug of tea and frowning at nothing in particular, feeling
oddly calm.
Not-actually-007 sighs as though Q is being particularly difficult. “You’re not hallucinating. I need someone to stop them from moving all my stuff into storage and selling my flat the next time I get declared dead.”
“So you’re the one having a psychotic break then.” Q revises with a small smile, sipping his tea and feeling quite a bit better at the prospect of getting back to his project after all. It’s not like it’s the first time a 00 has ended up short a few marbles.
“I’ll bring back my equipment next mission.” The apparently real agent haggles, smirking.
“You ought to do that anyways.” Q reminds with a reproving frown, meeting the man’s gaze steadily now that he’s not at risk of fueling his own delusions.
“I don’t though.” Bond points out, looking annoyingly amused about it. Q is distinctly aware of this fact, but admits in this context it’s a valid point.
“One mission is hardly going to matter in the scheme of things.” Q tells him, because this is also a valid point and if Bond is going to bring up this argument Q is sure as hell going to win it.
“I’ll bring you back tea from wherever I go.” 007 temporizes, neatly switching to a new line of persuasion.
“I like the Earl Grey I always get.” He says with a shrug, setting his mug back on the desk and crossing his arms.
“Then I’ll bring back something else.” The agent tells him, “I’ll surprise you.”
“How about some enemy hard drives, hmm?” Q jabs pointedly, glaring as he feels a renewed wave of annoyance at the piece of equipment that is doubtless in too many pieces to count on the bottom of a rubble pile in Indonesia right now.
“I could do that.” Bond offers, a distinctly shark like smirk on his face as he straightens up. He looks like a man who’s won and knows it, entirely self-assured in his victory.
And damn it, he’s not wrong.
Q takes a calming breath and opens his mouth. If he’s going to agree to this he’s going to have a few of his own demands in there.“I’ll require that you bring back your equipment at least 30% of the time. Neither of us will mention this arrangement unless it is absolutely necessary. In the event of my death, you will wipe all my home data before MI6 can get a hold of it. When I tell you to do something you will do it. In and out of the field.”
“Only when you mean it.” Bond cuts in, and Q supposes it probably says something about them that they both understand exactly what he means. Then again, this whole situation probably says something about them. Q nods.
“I’ll require you not sleep around off mission.” Q continues, half because he doesn't need a reputation for having a cheating spouse and half curious if the man will even agree.
“You won’t sleep around either then.” The agent challenges. Q suspects it’s not because the agent actually cares, but more in retaliation for Q’s demands.
Q nods and stands, watching Bond take a half-step back to allow Q just enough room. “Lastly, I want a proper proposal.”
The 00 looks torn between exasperation and amusement. “Really.”
It’s more of a statement than a question, and the man doesn't even wait for a reply before sighing, taking a single step back with his left foot, and lowering himself gracefully onto one knee.
Bond frowns for a moment as he glances down at his own hands, but then the agent just smiles with a ridiculously earnest looking gaze up at Q and grabs Q’s right hand between both of his slightly larger ones.
“Q,” The agent begins, pausing dramatically “Light of my life.”
Q bites his lip to keep a straight face. The man really doesn't do things by half.
“It would mean the world to me to have you with me for the rest of my days. Your voice to guide me through thick and thin. I would go to the ends of the Earth for you, and crawl my way back through hellfire to see your face once more. The very thought of you makes me want to be a better agent. Your dedication and brilliance is a higher standard to which I am called.”
Bond stops again for a moment, bringing Q’s hand to his mouth and brushing his lips across the back of it almost reverently, as though the overdramatic ponce is afraid his lips will leave scratches.
“Q.” 007 gazes up into the quartermaster’s eyes, as honest and open as a billionaire’s trophy wife. “Marry me.”
“Fine.” Q huffs. “Now get out so I can finish this.”