Chapter Text
Although they were a tight unit that worked together and they pretty much almost completely trusted each other, outside of work the people of MI6 had few things they agreed upon. Some liked Manchester, others Liverpool while others hated football and found it a complete waste of times. Some sang praise to Moffat’s Doctor Who; others bemoaned the old age of the TV series and swore up and down and on the graves of their relatives that the man was simply incapable of getting the true meaning of the good Doctor.
And yet there was one thing everybody agreed upon and that was that Q’s hands were a complete menace when he was completely exhausted. Not just the fingers that flew flawlessly over the keyboard, the young man never hitting once ‘Backspace’ or ‘Delete’ unless he was changing someone else’s code or password – at least that was what the minions swore and were ready to fight whoever dared to claim that they had once seen Q typo something. No, the whole appendages were considered very dangerous.
While Q was generally a calm man who was able to show his distress and disapproval of someone’s actions or way of thinking by simply lowering his voice a single tone with the occasional slip here and there thanks to (mostly) agent 007, the moment he started to explain something that he is passionate about or something that he couldn’t believe the other person didn’t understand and he was close to collapsing for lack of sleep, the arms start flailing around.
The first time the ‘meat weapons’ – as some double ohs secretly referred to Q’s arms – were turned against one of MI6’s own people was when the quartermaster lost himself explaining where the server’s old security system had failed. He was gesticulating like a conductor who felt he was close to dying in the middle of the greatest song in the world and was dead set on finishing the damn thing before the bonny man could reap him.
The minions around him thought they were safe and they couldn’t have been more wrong. With a swift move – which, again, some minions swore that was what the German style of the slow 6/8 time – the young man managed to break the noses of no less than three of his avid listeners. And to top everything off, he wasn’t even aware of it. He realized what had happened only a short few moments later when he turned to walk down to the whiteboard to draw the faulty line of code that had doomed MI6 as if to shame it and slipped on blood.
The next victim was the MI6 ‘coffee and tea’ boy, who had been called to the quartermaster’s office so the young genius could properly explain the exact location of the only shop which he deemed worthy of being used as an energy supplier for his branch. Somewhere between a left and a right, the boy had been elbowed in the nose and was currently bleeding over Q’s time sensitive projects.
More employees feel victims to Q’s limbs after that and, while the lower ranking members knew well to stay at a safe distance from the young man when he was explaining that, M was blissfully unaware. But that changed during a really important meeting where the head of the MI6 found himself on the receiving end of a swift and painful slap from Q who had gotten lost in explaining exactly just how he was planning on using Starbucks’ Wi-Fi to hack into a building suspected of housing dangerous people for the crown without the use of agents.
After that, a high importance e-mail was sent throughout MI6, warning everyone to keep away from the Quartermaster when the bags under his eyes were too pronounced. Of course, there had been one department who hadn’t read the cautionary mail and that was the one formed from double ohs.
In their defense, whenever something was of the upmost importance, they were contacted by a person, not via mail. Their inboxes were always filled with over 1.000 unread messages by the end of each month and the agents took great pride in that. At one point, some of them had decided to make a drinking game out of it, but when Q was dragged from bed after a 72 h mission because a hacking alarm had been issued, they stopped doing that.
It only took one double oh to get – 008, a rookie agent by the deadly department’s standards since he had been in the field a little over a year – ‘attacked’ by Q’s limbs convince them that it was in their own interest to at least glance at their mails. The agent, being tougher than your usual run of the mill MI6 employee, hadn’t gotten his nose broken, but he did end up with a bruise around his left eye. Q, the poor man, had suddenly found himself tackled to the ground, arms painfully pulled behind him as soon as his hand had come into contact with the other man’s face.
Moneypenny was over the agent in an instance, trying to pry him off of the confused and pained quartermaster, shouting at someone to bring backup – Q had been unfortunate enough to assault the agent post-mission and the agent was still high on adrenaline and still pretty much under the control of his basic instinct to survive and incapacitate when attack.
Eve eventually managed to pry the agent off the shocked quartermaster, 007 making his grand entrance only a few seconds later and instantly kneed the confused agent in the stomach, incapacitating him. Bond then promptly delivered Q to medical, where he sat next to young man until the doctor assured him that no bones were broken and that he could still use his hands.
“Your wrists will be bruised for a few days and nothing more, Quartermaster. I’ll give you a gel to apply on the bruises to hasten the healing process. And please, for your own good as well as the rest of us, get some rest. “Though the later part fell on deaf ears, no matter how many times blue eyes glared at him.
Q looked miserable for the entire day and not even his favorite tea and sweets did little to brighten him up. He asked R, in private, to remind him when possible to keep his arms still and then proceeded to go look for 008 and apologize with Eve on his heels.
The agent was first to apologize, nervously – in Q’s own opinion – looking behind the young man as if he was expecting something to step in his view and execute him on the spot if he even mispronounced one word of his thorough apology wrong. Later, much later, Eve would tell Q that she had seen Bond glare at 008 from behind a pillar, almost swearing that the other agent was casually playing with his Walther.
But no one could really bring themselves to stop Q from his erratic gesticulating, R herself explaining to the young man over a pint that he looked miserable whenever she had reminded him about keeping his arms to him.
“We’ll simply keep a distance when you go into your world, boss.” She squeezed his hand and then the conversation shifted to new apps and other frivolous things.
However, even with everyone watching out, Q’s arms managed to make another victim. And, to everyone’s horror, the victim turned out to be none other than agent 007.
The agent had walked in the firing range, Q being his clear target. The young man had his back turned to the door and seemed to focus on something that was on a little table, so Band assumed that it was for him to approach him. But, just as he rested his hand on Q’s shoulder, the other man’s arm shot up and fully smacked the agent in the face, damaging the already plastered nose and actually giving Bond a nose bleed.
The world stood still for a moment and then everything moved at double the speed. The minions that were present were quick to latch on to the still unmoving living weapon, trying their best to push the man away since they were afraid that he’d do something crazy like kill their sleep deprived Overlord.
“Don’t do anything rash, 007,” one of the minions from the man’s left all but shouted in the man’s ear. “It was a mistake! He’s your quartermaster!”
Q was stunned and froze to the spot, eyes wide. He suddenly felt himself be overcome with dizziness and when he looked at his hand and saw James’ blood on it, he felt sick. He didn’t know why but he felt worse than when he had hurt 008 and the little jolt of anger only added more to his confusion.
Soon, the noises around him started to become sharper and higher in pitch, the world tilting and shaking, the colors brighter while his thoughts crashed into each other becoming nothing more than white noise in his brain. And then, it all went black.
“Q!” Bond flexed and shook off the thin boffins, running to the collapsed Quartermaster. He quickly checked his pulse, ignoring the blood dripping from his nose over the man’s cream cardigan. He breathed out in relief when he realized that no, his Q wasn’t dead, his Q hadn’t been shot, his Q wasn’t drowning. He had simply passed out. “Call Medical and give them a quick rundown of what happened.”
He carefully gathered the young man in his arms, unconsciously holding tighter to him when his eyes landed on a Moneypenny with her gun drawn and flanked by two security guards. But there was no need for violence, the woman understanding from a single glance what had happened and she stepped aside, allowing the agent to pass with his precious cargo.
When the numbers from his head finally formed thoughts he could comprehend and apply visuals to, Q’s green eyes snapped open. He stared confused at the white ceiling, slowly remembering and understanding them. His left arm stung a bit and when he turned around and saw the IV attached to it, the mystery had been solved.
A nurse sprang on her feet from his left and bolted out of the room, the magazine she had been flipping through dropping on the ground. He had wanted to flinch, but his muscles refused to listen to the electrical impulses sent by the brain, so he’d simply stared at the door until the doctor walked through it and, after recovering his glasses, Q could clearly see the disappointment written all over the old man’s face.
“I’ve informed M of your current condition and he decided to put you on forced, paid leave effective immediately.” The doctor’s hand shot up instantly, keeping Q from talking. “Do not even try it, Quartermaster. I warned you yesterday that you were on the verge of collapsing and you gave me your word that you would go home.” This was probably how grandchildren felt when they were scolded for good reason by their grandparents, Q reasoned. “Was I shocked when Mister Bond suddenly appeared in my office with your lifeless body in his arms? No. Did I hope that you would actually keep your word and go home? Yes.”
Well, this had gone far enough, Q decided. “Doctor. Although I appreciate your concern, I feel as if I have to remind you that you are not a pediatrician and I am not a child to be scolded.” He realized that it was close to impossible to move his hands, so at least he didn’t have to worry about ripping the IV out by accident.
“My grandson is older than you and that doesn’t stop me from giving him a good ear tug when he needs it. Don’t think your rank of Quartermaster will stop me either, boy.”
“Are you threatening me, good doctor?” Q challenged back, doing his best to give a hard stare which turned to be a bit hard if the world insisted on spotting black dots when he did that.
“No, I am telling you your future. And don’t think M would punish me for it. He’d probably give me a knighthood.” Sighing, the doctor started to massage is head. “You and that other blockhead are dead set on giving me an ulcer. Trouble always comes in pairs, I suppose. Before it was him and the Russian…” He continued to mutter. “Now lie down and get some rest. I’ll have a nurse keep an eye on you and wake you when your IV is done to send you home.”
Q frowned, suddenly feeling like he was ten years old and for a moment he worried that spots would suddenly appear all over his face. He was also having a hard time keeping his tongue in his mouth – oh, if he’d reverted to this mental age, he really needed some rest. “Do you refer to all your superiors as ‘blockheads’, doctor?”
The man grinned and excused himself, the nurse from before retaking her seat by Q’s bed and going back to her magazine, completely ignoring the glares aimed at her. As if she’d be intimidated by a twenty-something boy with and attitude problem and a mix between a god complex and a superiority complex. Or at least those were the results she got for the boy from the magazine quiz she did in his name.
“How’s our boy doing?” Eve asked as she entered the room a couple of hours later, closely followed by Bond.
“For once, exactly what he is supposed to do – getting some rest,” the nurse replied, laughing and patting the sleeping man’s head. “I’ll wake him up so you can take him home. The doctor also left some instructions for him,” She clicked her tongue and rested her hands on her hips after taking out the empty IV. “Although he’s got the pigheadedness of an agent so something tells me he’ll ignore everything.”
“Let him sleep; I’ll carry him home. I’ll also make sure he’s not doing anything except what the doctor ordered,” Bond muttered, carefully gathering the sleeping man in his arms and glaring at the nurse until she stepped away.
“M finally figured out how to properly punish him for losing the Aston Martin,” Eve supplied, grinning. “He’s on Q-sitting duty.”
***
He woke up slightly dizzy, but it was a pleasant kind of dizzy. He felt like he was sitting on a cloud and his arms stopped hurting. His body still refused to work with him and he found out that he could do little more than turn around more than a centimeter. His eyes also decided that they were perfectly fine staying shut, but he wanted to see what time it was and ask the nurse if M and the doctor had snapped back to their senses.
“Little bit after 3 in the morning, Quany. We’re in your apartment and you’ve been sleeping for little over 11 hours.”
If he had had enough energy, Q would have jumped all the way across the room and maybe perhaps even scramble upstairs to get the agent the moment he heard the voice and felt a large hand rest over his forehead. But because his body was a traitor, all he managed to do was tense and gasp.
“It’s James. You’re safe and please don’t break my nose again.” The agent said in a sleepy voice, moving his hand away from Q’s head and over to his left arm, which he carefully gave a soft squeeze. “At least MI6 really doesn’t have to worry about you not being able to defend yourself when you are tried. And you also have quite protective minions. A bit stupid, since they thought I’d attack you, but they do not know me that well. Although I should feel insulted. Make me an exploding pen and I’ll forgive him
He felt his brain slowly starting to work properly again ten minutes after the agent had stopped talking, but it was better late than never. “Bond, what in the bloody hell are you doing in my apartment, in my bed? And wrong name. Try harder.” The words didn’t come off as cold. Instead, he sounded more confused and uncertain, even sulking.
“You must still be very exhausted if you’re asking me that, my dear Quany.” Bond said casually, sitting up straight and turning on the lights, causing Q to groan and duck his head under the covers. “I’m sleeping. I do know that the bed as other uses besides the pleasant one.”
“Madam M warned me about how much of a bloody bastard you were, you know. And your lack of understanding of personal space.”
“I would have taken the sofa, but someone decided to cling to my neck and use me as a pillow for a few hours. And by the time that stubborn someone did let me go, I was too comfy and warm to actually leave the bed.” James said smugly, pulling the covers back to look at the blushing quartermaster. “Eve had to tuck us is in.” He continued and allowed Q to weakly pushing him away, presenting him with a glass of water and a small pill. “Take one and wake me up again at a decent hour with your scolding.”
They glared at each other a minute, before Q finally rolled his eyes and allowed Bond to help him sit up so he could take the pill, the lights going off instantly after that. “Bond, I may be tired but I can still use my head! If what you said is the truth, why are you not dressed in your perfect suit? And why am I wearing a different pair of pants and a t-shirt? Bond, are you ignoring me?”
The other man gave out a loud and very fake snore, arm shooting up and pulling Q back down on the bed. “Still not a decent our, Quany,” he said between fake snores, pulling his arm back when he felt a pair of teeth weakly sink in it.
“Stop calling me that and answer my questions!” Q insisted, trying and failing to hold back a huge yawn, rubbing his eyes. “And if Moneypenny took pictures, you’ll pay for it.”
Turning to face the fuming extremely adorable Q, James decided to screw everything and wrap his arms around him, taking advantage of how stunned the other man was to plant a kiss on his temples. “Fine, I’ll tell you a story if you insist. There was one a young boy who looked like he had birds leave in his hair and who was very stubborn and refused to his elders.”
“Kind of hard to listen to them if their mouths have been sewed shut in their sleep.” Q snapped back, kicking James in the shins and pushing a pillow between them. “I’ll e-mail HR in the morning about your behavior.”
“Good luck finding anything from which you could connect to the internet.” Bond snorted, draping his legs over Q to keep him from jumping up. “Now go to sleep, or I’ll call the doctor to give you a hard stare.”
“At least Google ‘personal space’, Bond.” He decided that he was too tired to even try anything and his brain had decided that he kind of liked the octopus-like behavior of the agent. Well, maybe this was a dream and anyway, maybe there was a way to turn James into a real octopus. He’ll have to get to work on a machine as soon as he wakes up.
“Only if you Google ‘taking care of yourself’ first. Although, I could show you one way to do that and I guarantee it is even more pleasant if someone…” He didn’t get to finish his lewd joke, a loud slap echoing in the silent room.
“You two go to sleep already,” Eve barked out, blowing air in the palm of her hand as Bond rubbed his now red shoulder. “And so help me God, Bond if you continue to talk and pester poor Q, I will kick you out, write a report on your behavior and then tell his minions that you tormented their previous Overlord and kept him from getting better! And don’t think they’ll let this one slide.”
Shaking his head slowly and pulling the blankets better around the very much asleep Q, Bond mock glared at the woman. “Eve, how can he get proper rest if you keep shouting in his ear. Do you want to wake him up?”
Eve started to grumble under her breath, managing to stop herself before she could slam the door shut. “I hope he uses a taser gun on him when he wakes up. Maybe get him in that bloody big arse of his. Bloody ungrateful git,” she continued to grumble to the empty room, laying back down on the surprisingly comfortable sofa, pulling the blanket over her head and glaring at her beeping phone.
Love you too, mother
-J
“I’ll kill you in your sleep, Bond!”