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Bond had made a vow long ago never to count his losses. Not the shots he didn't take. Not the leaps he didn't make. Not the friends who came and went – some by death, some from inertia. And certainly not the times he could have saved someone and didn't.
He very nearly didn't attend M's funeral. They weren't really his thing. But she had, despite himself, wormed herself under his skin. She'd been a tough old broad and he was glad to have fought at her side. He figured as well that he owed her one, and this was the least he could do.
The place was, he supposed not entirely unexpectedly, packed to the rafters. She had been extremely well-respected. And not adverse to blackmail; most of the people were probably wanting to see if she was really dead.
“Checking for vitals, I imagine,” a voice said from behind him. Bond turned his head to see Q, looking like he'd raided his father's wardrobe and Tanner who was looking as impeccable as ever.
“Trust you to be disrespectful at a funeral,” Bond said.
“How many mourners have you killed at funerals, exactly?” Q countered. “A dozen, isn't it?”
“At least,” Tanner replied, face a stoic mask to all but the untrained.
Bond found himself amused despite his best efforts. “Quite the double act,” he said as drolly as he knew how.
“We were planning on getting completely bladdered after this,” Tanner said. “Fancy joining us?”
Bond looked them both up and down. They both looked like they'd been through the wringer, which wasn't making his sore ribs feel any better, and they were also standing close enough that Bond thought watching them get drunk might be fun, and that wasn't really a luxury he tended to give himself.
“All right,” Bond said. “Lead on.”
* * * * *
Bond had assumed that neither Tanner nor Q would be able to handle their liquor. Well, especially Q.
He was wrong.
He had forgotten to take into account the fact the MI6 trained you for night's spent drinking just as they did for shooting and hacking into government computers.
He decided, two hours in, that working out how much alcohol they had consumed was both pointless and probably dangerous. Instead he settled on concentrating on the cards in front of him, determined that Q wouldn't win another round of strip poker.
“Are you ready to submit?” Tanner asked with a laugh. He looked Bond up and down and then glanced ruefully at himself. They were both sat in only their boxers, whilst Q was still as buttoned up as ever.
Bond took another drink from his beer bottle and eyed a smirking Q. “Do you know how many ways I know how to kill you as painfully as possible?”
Q shrugged. “Still can't beat me at cards.”
“You're cheating.”
“Prove it.”
Bond glared at Q and Q merely did that infuriating half-smile of his. Bond put down his cards. “I fold.”
Q waved at the almost naked Bond but Bond shook his head. “I am not nearly drunk enough.”
Q pouted and Bond was slightly concerned that he couldn’t tell whether he was genuinely upset about it or mocking him. Working with Q was certainly going to be interesting.
“I'll see you tomorrow,” Bond said, and grabbed his clothes before walking out of the house.
“You're incorrigible,” Tanner told him.
Q shrugged. “You still haven't told shown me your cards.”
Tanner pulled his cards towards his chest. “Make me.”
“I'm starting to think all this power is going to your head,” Q replied. “Don't you have a meeting with the new M tomorrow?”
“Don't you?”
“I had mine this morning.”
Tanner's brow furrowed. “I didn't know that.”
“He came to see me about Bond and then decided to reassure me that my job was secure.” He took a slow sip of beer. “For the moment, anyway. Apparently he likes the way my mind works.”
“He's not the only one,” Tanner leered.
Q reached over and took Tanner's cards from loose fingers. He examined them slowly and then unbuttoned the top button of his cardigan.
“Is that seriously all I'm going to get?” Tanner asked.
Q stood up and moved towards his bedroom. “I don't know. Is it?”
Tanner waited a moment, trying to decide if he was drunk enough to go through with it, or sober enough to walk in a straight line. Or vice versa. He wasn't quite sure. When he next looked up Q was standing, completely naked, in the doorway.
“I've been undressing myself for a very long time, but I do find that the next stage in the procedure is generally more enjoyable when another pair of hands is involved.”
Tanner shot up and banged his knees against the table. Q tried not to laugh.
“Right. Are you sure?”
“I'm not a blushing virgin,” Q replied. He turned to go back into the bedroom and then paused, looking back over his shoulder. “Unless you want me to be.”
Tanner gripped the table hard enough to bruise. He took a fortifying drink from the whisky bottle in the middle of the table and then followed Q into his bedroom.
* * * * * *
The next day, as Q followed his normal morning routine – Earl Grey and a slice of heavily buttered toast with marmalade – he logged on to MI6's remote servers and tried to plan his day. Of course his routine wasn't quite as normal as he was sitting up in bed, his laptop on his knees and a delightfully mussed Tanner slumbering next to him.
He had just logged into his emails when a message from Bond, James Bond, caught his eye. Bond wasn't exactly in the habit of emailing him.
There was no subject line and the only item in the body of the email was a smiley face, which struck Q as a very un-Bondlike greeting. There was an attachment however, which was just named “paybacksabitch”. Normally wary of opening any kind of attachment without running several of his own personally written virus checkers, Q ran all standards tests and then a few non-standard ones for good measure. It all seemed fine.
Absently patting Tanner's head Q decided the only thing for it was to click on the attachment. It opened up a video file. And there he was on the screen, completely naked. His eyes widened a fraction as he took in last night's activities, him and Tanner, rolling about in bed together.
“Bond is a dead man,” he muttered under his breath as he hit pause, and then, reconsidering, pressed play again. It was quite a hot video, all things considered. He looked around his room and worked out exactly where the hidden camera must be. Just when Bond had planted it, and how he'd got past Q's extensive security, was a question for another time. Right now all he cared about was planning his revenge. And just what the hell he was going to tell Tanner.
One thing was for sure though, if Bond posted this anywhere else, they'd never find his body.