Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Chapter one

“Bond, get out of there!”

“It’s okay Q. It’s what needs to be done.”

Bond sounded resigned. He was no longer huffing for air. His voice was calm and sightly sad.

“Bond, Madeline – Matilda, what about them?” Q voice broke with emotion.

“It’s better for them, Q. It’s better for everyone.”

The noise of the plane engines almost drowned out Bond’s last few words. Q was shaking. He watched the computer screen as the missiles were being tracked right to Bond’s position.

“Bond, PLEASE!” Q shouted.

“I’m sorry Q.”

“BOND!”

In his nightmare, Q heard the explosion although he never did when it actually happened. All he heard at the time of James Bond’s death was the whine of the disconnected communications and the satellite image showing an expanding cloud of dirt and debris from the blast.

Q woke up shaking. His skin covered in a cold sweat as his heart raced. The echoing sound of the explosion in his head. Bond’s final words, ‘I’m sorry, Q.’

Q kicked the covers off as he threw himself out of bed. He stumbled as he rushed to the bathroom. Collapsing on the tile floor as his stomach heaved the Chinese noodles from it. As the last of his dinner was flushed down the toilet, Q leaned back on his heels. He was still shaking. He twisted his legs out from underneath himself and pulled his knees to his chest. The tears slipped down his cheeks before he made the first sound. A hollow cry. A pained sob as if part of his soul were being torn from him. As painful as any evisceration.

He sat on the cold tile floor and wept. Crying again for a man who he couldn’t actually say he was more than just an acquaintance. Bond visited Q every night. Sometimes the dreams were just moments they spoke. Conversations and briefings. Nothing special. Occasionally, his dream was just of Bond standing there in one of his suits with his smug expression on his face. His crystal blue eyes hiding something. A glint of knowledge that Q is unable to decipher. But then there were the ones which Q was forced to relive those final moments. The final messages from Bond. ‘I’m sorry, Q’

‘Sorry for what’, Q wondered. ‘Not listening to me! Not getting out of there when you could! Not hiding when I told you to! Dying!’

Q was numb when he could no longer cry. He was cold from sitting on the tile floor and he felt like he would never be warm again. He stood and stared at his reflection in the mirror. His skin was paler. His cheeks were hollow. Dark smudges were smear under his eyes. Flecks of grey could now be seen in his dark curls. James Bond might be dead, but Q was the one who looks like a corpse.

It had been over a year since Bond had died on the island in the Sea of Okhotsk. Fourteen months of remorse and regret. He hated himself for letting Bond die. He hated himself for being the one to order the missiles to be fired at the island. He hated that he would never understand Bond’s last words to him.

Q brushed his teeth to get the taste of vomit out of mouth. He slowly walked back into his bedroom and stared down at the bed. He should go back to sleep. He should try and get some sleep before he has to go to work tomorrow. He was needed at work.

Q was too numb to even think about sleep. He pulled the blanket from the bed and wrapped it around his shoulders. Cocooned in the warmth he stumbled slowly down the steps and into his living room where he collapsed on the couch. The streetlamp’s pale light crept in through the windows of his garden flat. Casting long grey shadows in the small but familiar room.

Q looked up at the kitchen and believed he could hear Bond’s voice.

It was just after Bond had reappeared after five years. He showed up at Q’s door with Eve Moneypenny – smiling at him like they were the best of friends. It didn’t matter to Bond that he had broken Q’s heart five years ago. He had shown up one day and taken Q’s ‘love letter’ to him, the rebuilt DB-5, away with barely a thank you. Taken it to drive off with that woman. Madeline Swann. But there he was, standing at Q’s door. Then he walked in like he owned the place. Opened the bottle of wine Q had bought for his date. And demanded Q’s help. When Q’s date knocked on the door, Bond insisted Q keep working while he dealt with the date. Q never found out what Bond had said but Q’s date never called again nor would he accept Q’s calls. And before that first night was over, Bond had moved into Q’s flat. Taken up residency.

The next morning, Q came down from his bedroom – sleep mussed and drowsy. He was greeted by Bond standing in his kitchen in sleep pants and t-shirt. A mug of perfectly prepared Earl Grey tea held out to him. Q took it with both hands and glanced over Bond’s shoulder to see bangers sizzling in a skillet.

“Fried or scrambled eggs?” Bond asked.

“What?” Q seemed to be very confused. He didn’t even know he had sausages and eggs in the flat.

And Bond standing in his kitchen in a tight shirt was too distracting this early in the morning even if the tea was perfect.

“Do you want scrambled eggs or fried eggs?”

“Oh, ah . . . whatever you’re having.” Q said as he practically fell into the chair at the table. “You know I don’t usually eat breakfast. Just a cup of tea and maybe a biscuit.”

“That explains a lot. But since you were kind enough to offer me your couch to sleep on, it is the least I can do. Make sure my quartermaster is properly fed.” Bond said with a smile as he whisked the eggs with cream and butter. He poured them into a skillet and then carefully stirred them.

“I didn’t know you could cook.” Q said as he took another sip of tea.

“I rarely get to cook but I find it meditative. I can let my mind relax while I do the repetitive act of stirring.”

“Oh, I always found cooking intimidating.” Q said.

Bond laughed.

And that was how it was for the five days that Bond lived with Q. Q would wake up and find Bond in the kitchen in just the bottoms of his pajamas, holding out a mug of tea for Q. It would have been so domestic – so perfect if it hadn’t been so short lived and ended in Bond’s death at Q’s hands.

Q sat on the couch as he stared into his empty kitchen. Bond’s voice still echoing in the dark flat. The trace scent of his aftershave still present on the pillows of the couch, even though Q knew it couldn’t be after fourteen months. The ghost that would not leave Q’s imagination.

Q knew he needed to leave. He needed to escape the ghost. Find a new flat. Then Q shook his head. That wouldn’t work. It wouldn’t be that easy. He could feel Bond in the city. The glimpse of a man in a bespoke suit. The flare of a blond hair over a tanned face. No Q, needed to leave London. Needed to leave England.

But where would he go?

Scotland was definitely out. Ireland didn’t offer opportunities to him in his field of expertise. And God forbid he move somewhere on the Continent.

America was a possibility. He was constantly being ‘head-hunted’ by various corporations and universities in the States. Both MIT and Boston College had offered him positions. And Harvard had a forty-billion-pound endowment. They wouldn’t balk at him spending a million dollars on a project. He could be an adjunct professor. Professor Wallace. Give the occasional lecture while he spent most of his time designing and building. He liked Boston. It was like being in an English city in the United States. Narrow streets and small brick buildings. Pubs and corner grocery stores. Museums and tourists. Even the cost of living was about the same. Painfully high. He could live in Boston.

When he noticed the light had changed in the room, he realized the sun was slowly slipping around the buildings and a new day was beginning. He had been up most of the night, sitting on his couch, planning his new life away from England and MI6. Away from the possibility of being asked to kill someone else. Friend or foe.

Sitting on the tube that morning, he wrote out his letter on his phone. When he got his office, he quickly downloaded it and printed three copies. Signing each, he went to the executive floor and into M’s outer office.

Eve Moneypenny was sitting behind her desk, her bright smile quickly disappeared when she saw his face.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“Nothing’s wrong.”

“Liar. Look at yourself.”

Q glanced over at an ornate mirror hanging on the opposite wall. His hair was flat and limp. His skin was a sickly shade. Dark smudges circled his bloodshot eyes.

“You look like you’ve just come in after having been drinking all night long. Did you get any sleep?”

“No,” he said as he looked down at the letters in his hand. “I need to speak to M.”

“Is it important? He is due for a meeting with the foreign secretary in half an hour.” Eve said looking down at her watch.

“Yes, and I won’t take long.” Q said.

Eve hesitated then pressed the intercom button on her desk.

“Yes?” Mallory’s disembodied voice was loud in the office.

“Q needs to speak to you for a minute before you leave.” Eve said.

“Is it important?” Mallory asked.

She glanced up at Q who again nodded.

“Yes, very.”

“Alright. Send him in.” Mallory said exasperated.

The padded door clicked open and Q steeled himself for the confrontation.

He walked straight into Mallory’s office and up to the desk. Bill Tanner was sitting the chair opposite Mallory’s desk. A pile of reports and files in his lap. Q didn’t pause or greet either man.

“Sir, I wish to submit this to you immediately.” Q said as he held one letter out to Mallory.

Mallory took it and quickly read through it then glared up at Q. Q turned and gave a copy of his resignation to Bill.

“Since you are here, Bill. Save me the time tracking you down.”

Bill took it and quickly read it.

“Q, this is not the time . . .” Mallory started.

“Sir, it is past time. I should have resigned months ago. R is more than competent to replace me. It will take about two weeks to get her up to speed on the administrative end of things but then she will be able to take over.” Q said looking down at the letter and not into Mallory’s face. He was shaking slightly. He didn’t know if it was nerves or lack of sleep.

“I can’t accept this.” Mallory said firmly.

Q looked up into Mallory’s face. “You must. I am unable to continue on as the Quartermaster of MI6.”

“Why? You have not stated any specific reason for your resignation.”

“Personal reasons.”

“Q, you are irreplaceable.” Mallory said.

Bill snorted. Q glanced sideways at the man, then turned back. “I believe it has been proven no one here is irreplaceable. Everyone is expendable.”

“I don’t understand why you are bringing this to me now.”

Bill sat forward. “Maybe it’s because he’s finally understands that loyalty to MI6 is not reciprocated as it once was. Better to leave now before he is used as a test subject too.”

Mallory glared at Bill. The sound of the man gritting his teeth was loud. Mallory turned back and looked at Q.

“Is that it? Do you think we will leave you out there alone?”

Q seemed confused by the question. “No, sir. I just can no longer give the Service my best. I am no longer an asset to MI6. For the good of both MI6 and myself, I need to resign and allow someone more focused than myself to carry on.”

“Maybe some time off. A sabbatical?”

“No.”

“Q, you are a very valuable member of MI6.” Mallory continued.

“I once was. I am no longer. As to normal protocols, R will change all the passwords and verify that I am locked out of the servers.”

Bill snorted again. Both M and Q glanced at him.

“It is obvious that Q is more than capable of hacking into our systems whenever he wants.”

“I give my word I will not.” Q said. Then before another objections could be made by either man, Q turned and left.

He opened the door as M called out. “Give us a month to change your mind.”

Q didn’t answer him but stared at Eve who had been covertly listening in the meeting with the intercom. She actually blushed when he caught her.

“Sir, two weeks is my final and only offer.” He closed the door and walked over to Eve’s desk.

“Oh, darling . . .”

“Don’t. It’s done. I’m out.” He said resigned. He left the executive offices before anyone else could stop him.

Q spent the day organizing his administrative work for R to take over. Around four in the afternoon, he grabbed a banker box and started to remove books from the shelves in his office. No one from the executive branch came down to talk to him. R somehow figured out something was up but didn’t ask Q what it was.

At seven, Q was still in his office. He reviewed the reports from R&D on a proto-type scope and reviewed the budget requests from the armory when there was a soft knock on his office door. He glance up to see Eve standing there with a bottle of scotch and two glasses from Mallory’s personal bar set from his office.

“Those are rumored to have been a gift from the Queen.” Q said as he nodded at the cut lead-crystal tumblers.

“The scotch tastes better in them instead of paper cups.” She smiled and came in. She opened the bottle of Laphroaig. The amber liquid splashed seductively in the glistening crystal and its scent was warm and peaty.

Q took a glass and swirled around breathing deeply. He felt his mouth water and as he closed his eyes he could see James Bond smiling at him. A smug expression of foreknowledge. Q sipped the liquor and savored the taste for a moment before swallowing.

“M will be quite cross with you when he discovers his single malt has been pilfered.” Q said as he opened his eyes and stared at Eve.

“He won’t notice until the next disaster. And given that 007 is in Bagdad, that might be tomorrow.”

Q frowned. He refused to call Nomi Lynch ‘007’. That code name would forever be James Bond to Q. Just a M was always Olivia Mansfield to Bond. Refusing to ever refer to Mallory as M.

“Then we best finish our drinks so you can return the bottle back to the drinks cart in his office.”

“Bollocks.” She hummed.

A slight blush came to Q’s face. He quickly took another sip of scotch. Not his favorite drink but this was quite good.

“Is it because of Bond?” Eve asked bluntly.

Q coughed and set the tumbler down. He could feel himself start to flush.

“What would make you think that?”

“Because I know how it feels.”

Q looked up at her. He cocked his head slightly to the side as he studied her open face.

“How what feels?” Afraid that the answer would be his emotional attachment to the man.

“How it feels to know you are responsible for killing the legendary James Bond. Remember I shot him.”

Q sighed. “And I blew him up.”

“No one blames you.”

“I blame myself.”

Eve reached across the desk and took his hand. “It’s not our fault. It was the job. We made a choice. And it was a good choice but the results were not what we expected. At least your choice saved millions of people.”

The first tear rolled down Q’s face.

“But I still killed him.”

“No you didn’t. His choices killed him. He could run out of the building. He didn’t have to stay there. He could tried to save himself but he didn’t. He knew he needed to die too. That way there would be no more Project Heracles. Everything would be lost. And that was a good thing, Q.”

“If it was such a good thing, then why do I feel like such a failure.” He asked wiping another tear from his cheek.

“Because you cared. You loved him. We all did. He was infuriating and arrogant and thoughtless, but we loved him.” Emotion crept into Eve’s words.

Q took another drink of scotch. He swallowed it quickly, not wanting to savory anything but to hold back the sob the hung in his throat.

“I just can’t . . .” He started and then caught himself as the emotion became too intense. Eve squeezed his hand again. “I can’t stay here any longer. I can’t come in here and see everyone working and continuing on as if nothing happened. As if we hadn’t lost him. Like he didn’t matter.”

“He did matter. And so do you, Q. We lost him but that doesn’t mean we have to lose you too.” Eve said.

Q looked into her chocolate brown eyes. The warm and kind smile. Then he closed his eyes and pulled back away from her.

“No, it’s too much.”

Eve sighed and refilled their glasses with scotch. “Then let’s make a toast to us.”

Q opened his eyes and raised an eyebrow.

“To us?”

“The killers of James Bond. The ones who succeeded when every evil genius in the world failed. The ones who loved him the most.” She said as she raised her glass.

Q hesitated for a moment then lifted his glass too and the crystal clinked together. Sharp and high. The sound like that of a silver bell.

“To us . . . and James.” Q said.

“To us and James.” Eve repeated.

~Q~

The tube ride home was late. The car was nearly empty. Q was able to put the box of books on the seat next to him. He glanced around at his fellow travelers. There were only about ten people. Most were looking down at the mobiles – ignoring everyone else in the car. One couple were busy talking to each other about a movie. Q took a moment to think when the last time was he was able to see a movie. He couldn’t remember.

He looked down at the box again but felt the hair stand on the back of his neck. He looked around again. No one was paying any attention to him. That was normal but still something felt off. He took a moment to study the ten people in the car. The businessmen with their polished shoes and the scuffed briefcases. Nothing wrong there. The young girls watching some video on their phones, giggling, and talking amongst themselves. The student reading a textbook with a highlighter in his hand. Nothing was out of the ordinary. Nothing stood out. But still Q couldn’t shake the feeling he was being watched.

He pulled out his mobile and glanced at it. There was an app he had installed on of the phones of the executives of MI6. A panic button per say. Q’s thumb hesitated over the screen for a moment. He suddenly felt ridiculous. He was in London. He was safe. No one knew who he was. No one would look at him twice.

The train stopped at his station and Q grabbed his box of books and got out. He walked up the stairs as the teenage girls from the train followed him. They were still laughing about something they had seen. Q walked through the turnstiles and out into the humid night air. London was still alive and busy. Cars and taxis were speeding down the streets. The sound of music and laughter were coming out of the various clubs in the area.

Q had a short walk to his flat. A red brick Edwardian with white trim. He climbed the stairs of the stoop and set the box down. He reached into his pocket for his keys when he heard the first footstep.

The person was right behind him. He reached into his pocket for his mobile but the attacker grabbed his wrist and twisted it. Q screamed out in pain, then felt a sharp stab to his neck. A needle. The attacker had injected him with something. A black cloth bag went over his head before he began to slump.

Q’s last thought was where was Bond when he needed him the most.

Chapter Text

Q woke up with a pounding in his head. His mouth was dry as a desert. He groaned as he slowly sat up. He was on his couch in his flat. The room was dark but sunlight was trying to creep around the drawn curtains.

Q struggled to stand up. He stumbled to the sink in the kitchen and turned the tap on. He splashed cold water on his face and then cupped his hands to take a drink. It sparked his brain into gear.

Last night – he came home last night with a box of books. He glanced over at the door and the box was sitting there with his messenger bag. He remembered he was standing at his front door last night when he was – what? Attacked? Mugged?

He reached up and palmed the injection site on his neck. It was still painful. He padded down his pocket and realized his mobile was gone. He glanced over at the messenger bag. He rushed over and looked inside. Just as he feared – his wallet was gone as well as his tablet. His keys were still in the bag. He glanced up at his desk. Not only was his computer gone but every other electronic devise he had was missing. The computer screens, the keyboards, his backup drives and files. Everything. Gone.

He felt a giant ache in his stomach. And his headache grew in proportions. How was he going to explain this to M and Tanner? He stood and went to the desk. All that was sitting on it was Bakelite rotary dial phone with the rotor and numbers missing. In the center of the dial was the number six.

His fingers lightly stroked over the black phone. It was cool to the touch and smooth like glass. The cord attaching the receiver to the phone was thick and corded. The phone was attached to the wall like an old-fashioned land line. Q remembered seeing something like this in his Gran’s house when he was child. He had gotten into trouble one visit when he had taken the phone apart. He was only five.

Thinking he was imagining things, Q decide he needed to wake up more. He went to the curtain to open it and let more light into his flat. Instead of the narrow garden of his flat, he saw a wide view of a small village. Colorful buildings and plantings surrounded a plaza and lawn. In the distance he could see a shoreline and the ocean. High hills opposite of the water blocked the view beyond the village.

Q blinked rapidly, trying to understand what he was looking at. He glanced over his shoulder and saw his flat. His flat. His furniture and books. His rugs and lamps. But outside was some surreal village out of a storybook.

He was off balance. It felt as if he was falling. Like the ground had disappeared out from under his feet. The sinking dread one gets in one’s stomach while flying on a plane in turbulence. He had to be dreaming. It had to his imagination. The drug he was given – some kind of side effect. For a brief moment he thought the stress of work and killing Bond had driven him crazy.

“Good morning, neighbors.” A bright and cheery woman’s voice announced. The voice seemed to becoming from everywhere at once. “Remember today is the last day to submit your artwork for consideration to our contest. And there will be a concert at two p.m. Be seeing you.”

Q spun around trying to figure out where the voice came from. Suddenly the door of his flat opened up and a woman walked in carrying a large silver tray.

“Good morning, number six.” She said. She set the tray down on the kitchen counter and started to shift the dishes off of it.

“Who are you?” Q gasped.

“Breakfast. Most important meal of the day.”

Q could smell toast. Also there was tea.

“Who are you? Where am I?”

“How do you like your apartment?” she asked, dressed in a nurse’s uniform from fifty years ago. Simple white dress with a starched white apron pinned to her blouse. She even wore the starch linen cap on her head.

“Apartment?” Q asked.

“Oh, what do you call it? A flat?” she asked.

She smiled and lifted her right hand to her face. Making a circle with her thumb and forefinger and with the other three fingers outstretched like a cockscomb, she held her hand to eye then waved it away like a salute. “Be seeing you.”

She turned and left. Q watched her leave, confused. The front door seeming to open of its own accord then closed too. Hesitantly he walked over and picked up the china cup of tea. It smelled wonderful. The right amount of floral and spice. He brought it to his lips then stopped. It was an obvious trap. He had been drugged once, maybe whomever was doing this to him would be willing to drug him again. Then what? What was their ultimate plan for him?

Shakingly, he set the cup and saucer back down on the counter. He turned towards the stairs that led up to his bedroom to discover the stairs ended in the ceiling. His bedroom was gone. Half of his flat was gone. Instead he saw a narrow door that had not been there before. It opened into a single large room with different bed from his own. There was an empty clothes cupboard. Behind a frosted glass door was an alcove with a basic bathroom. A shower, sink, and toilet. No bathtub.

Of all the things that had happened since he woke up, the fact that half is flat was gone and replaced by a strange room he had never seen before broke his resolve. Q ran from the flat and out the front door. Instead of the road in front of his building, Q saw a small curved cobblestone street with colorful buildings snugged up against it. There were steps leading up and down from the street into hidden doorways. A couple walked past him in brightly colored capes and a stripped umbrella.

“Be seeing you.” They said with the same hand salute the woman with the tray had given him.

Petrified, Q ran up the narrow street to another tarmacked road. He glanced to the left and right. He saw more people walking around seeming calm and at home with the strange surroundings. He was just about to step into the roadway when a woman pulled up in a small motorized trolly. The canvas top was brightly stripped with matching cushions on the seats.

“Taxi?” she asked.

Q stared at her confused.

“Potrzebujesz taksówki?” she asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Is that Russian?” Q asked.

“No Polish. Do you need a taxi?”

“Yes, get me out of here.” He said as he sat down beside her on the front seat.

“Sorry, this is just local service.”

“Alright, take me as far as you can go.” He said.

She took off honking the small horn as the cart whizzed down the paved road.

Q stared at the small buildings and the haphazard architecture. It reminded him of a caricature of an Italian village. The buildings were different sizes and configurations with small balconies and alcoves. They were vibrantly painted in a rainbow of colors. Narrow pathways slipped between the buildings forming a network of curved and interconnecting alleyways. There were tall trees like cedars in the distance, climbing up the hills surrounding the village. There were numerous planters and pots with colorful flowers. The people walking around were all dressed in clothing that reminded Q of a stereotypical 60’s movie. The men wore lapelled jackets of cream or pastel colors while the women wore skirts that were just at the knee. Everyone wore the garish capes with the broad strips and fedoras. And everyone greeted them with the same ‘Be seeing you’ with the salute.

As the cart sped down the road Q asked. “Is this Poland?”

“No,” the drive answered.

“Why did you speak to me in Polish?”

“We’ve been getting a lot of them lately. It is wonderful language, don’t you think?” She turned and smiled at him.

“Where are you from?” Q asked.

“From here.” She said.

“Where is here?”

The cart slid to a stop at a building that looked like a beach hotel from the forties. Pale grey with broad windows. Numerous tables were arranged out in front of it on a tiled patio that reached out to a sea wall. Beyond the wall was a mock-up of a boat, with rigging and sails. It looked like it would be a playground for children but adults were rapidly running over it. Climbing up and down the ladders and the lines. Shouting orders and saluting each other.

On the other side of the sea wall but closer to Q and the taxi driver was a triangular pool. Bathers wore swimsuits that looked like they were from an Elvis Presley movie. Risqué for the time but terribly dated now. They laughed and tossed a beach ball between each other. The water only waist deep.

“End of the line.” She said with smile on her face.

Q glanced over and saw the sign that said, ‘Rest Home for the Elderly.’ Admittedly, most of the people on the patio were older and grey. Some were even in wheelchairs.

Q did not get out. “Take me back to my flat.” He said.

The driver didn’t hesitate. She quickly turned the cart around and was off again with a toot of her horn. The cart followed the same paved road back around the town and through the narrow street until it was back to where she had picked Q up.

“Ten credits,” she said.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Ten credits.” Then she shrugged. “Don’t worry, you can pay me next time. Be seeing you.”

Then she tooted the horn and was off. The cart dodging the people as it traveled up the road. He walked down the cobblestone path back to the door. In front of the little house was a sign, ‘Private, Six’

He stepped up to the door and it opened again without him touching it. He stepped into the familiar front room of his flat in London but everything else around it was foreign. He didn’t recognize the view out the window. He didn’t recognize his bedroom. He stepped up to his bookcase and looked and the spines on the books. The titles were correct. He pulled one down and opened it. The text was familiar. It had been a book he had used when he was in school. Flipping through the pages he looked for a specific page. The book fell open to the coffee stain he had left on the page after a late night of studying. It was still there. Somehow that simple brown circle was made everything more confusing.

He replaced the book and went to his couch. He slipped his hand down the side of the couch and felt the slight tears and snags in the fabric from his cat’s claws. The tears were there. Suddenly, he remembered. His cats. Where were his cats?

The Bakelite phone rang and Q actually jumped in surprise and fear. Hesitantly he lifted the receiver and listened.

“Are you number six?” the voice on the other end of the line asked.

“Ah, yes.” Q said.

“Please hold for a phone call.” There was a click and then another voice came on the line.

“Breakfast at my house. The green dome. You can’t miss it.” The male voice said.

“Who is this?” Q asked.

“Number two.” The call was disconnected.

Q stepped back out of the small building and glance around. There was a building with a large green dome on a hill behind Q’s building. He started walking down the cobblestone street when a small marching band approached. The band of ten or twelve people were enthusiastically playing Radetzky March. Behind the marching band was a group of people in the colorful stripped capes, twirling their umbrellas above their heads.

Q paused and watched as the crowd passed. It was one more thing that added to surreal nature of wherever he was. He crossed the road to a set of stone steps leading up to the domed building. At the top of the stairs was a simple conservative black door with a brass knocker. He lifted his hand to use the knocker when the door opened.

The foyer was elegant and traditional. A round pedestal table stood in the middle of the room with a china bowl of flower. There were plaster busts in alcoves and Chippendale chairs set against the moss green walls.

Q glanced around the room as a man dressed in black morning clothes came in through a set of white double doors. He didn’t say anything to Q but motioned him to follow. Q walked around the table and into another room that looked like it was the set of a 1960’s science fiction movie. A round room with brushed stainless-steel floor and walls. There was a dais in the middle and a half-moon chair upon it. Sitting in the chair was a squat pudgy faced man. He held an antique spectator’s walking stick.

“Welcome number six.” The strange man blustered.

“Who are you?” Q asked.

“Number two.”

Q glanced around as the first man dressed in the black morning suit rolled in a trolly with covered dishes.

“Who is number one?” Q asked.

The man sitting in the chair laughed. “Amazing how often that is the first question asked. How many eggs do you want?”

“None. Where am I?” Q asked.

“In my home.”

“Which is where?”

“Here.”

“Why am I here? Who are you? Where is here!?” Q was beginning to shout in frustration.

“You are here because you have information in your head.” Number Two said calmly.

Q turned and looked suspiciously at the plump man. Number Two continued.

“You are very valuable to the right people. You choose to leave your position not giving a reasonable explanation and then you decided to do what? You can see where there would be some concern regarding your reasons for resigning the way you did. You can’t believe we would allow someone like you to just wander around with all that knowledge.”

“My reasons are my own and any information I have I will not give you.”

The plump man smiled. “Yes you will. They always will. Everyone who comes to the Village does – eventually.”

“I will not!” Q shouted.

The man leaned forward. “By hook or by crook, you will. You are here and if you ever want to leave here you will cooperate.”

“Never!”

The man in the chair started to laugh. He raised his hand and gave the salute Q had been seeing all day.

“Be seeing you.”

Q took off running. He fled the house and ran down the stairs. The band was marching down the street again. Still playing the same song. The number of people following the band had grown to a small parade. Q dodge them as he tried to flee. The strange man’s laughter still ringing in his ears.

“By hook or by crook, you will.”

Chapter Text

“By hook or by crook.”

The words echoed in Q’s ears as he rushed from the building. He glanced down the stone steps that led back into the bizarre village then he turned in the opposite direction and ran up the hill. The path led into trees and gardens outside the village. In wide laws there were stone statuary that seemed to turn and watch him as he ran. He dived into the dense brush and trees. The limbs and branches pulled at him – scratching his face as he fled. Finally he came to a hard packed dirt road. Lining the road on the opposite side, was a tall hedge of boxwood at least twelve feet tall and several feet thick.

He glanced up and down the road then decided one direction was as good as any other and started walking. It was quiet up here. The sound of the ever-present marching band didn’t make it up the hill this far. He couldn’t hear the ‘oh so very happy’ woman’s voice that made announcements about art festivals and concerts. Q only heard birds and sound of breeze through the trees. It was warm as he walk and he finally felt he wasn’t in some bizarre nightmare.

Q had walked about half a mile down the road when a sensation he was being watched came over him He kept walking, glancing behind himself to see if he was being followed but he didn’t see anyone. He looked up at the sun and it was high overhead. It must be close to noon and he had been walking for a while. After he had walked one or two miles he heard the distinct sound of talking. It wasn’t English but he didn’t know what language it was. He moved off the road and knelt down into the brush to watch. The voices were only a hundred feet in front of him.

He glanced across the road at the boxwood hedge. He thought about trying to push his way through the planting but realized that would be impossible. The hedge was too thick for anyone larger than a small animal to get through. The plantings too close together and the hedge too thick.  He looked behind him into the trees. They were more sparsely growing and he could easily get through them, but he would also be easier to see. Hesitantly, he moved forward, listening to see if he had been spotted.

He came within fifty feet of the men guarding something that looked like a gate. There was a small guard house and an electric gate. Four men dressed in beige uniforms and military type hats.

One of the men was talking on a mobile. He snapped his fingers and two of the men went one way down the road and the other went in the opposite direction.

Obviously, they were searching for him.

Q fell to the ground and tried to hide in the dead leaves and brush. The man sent in his direction walked passed him on the road. The man was talking into his wristband as he was walking. He alternated between English and a Slavic language. The man’s head was up and looking down the road. When he passed Q’s hiding spot, Q slowly got back up and carefully worked his way to the gate. There was only one man left there.

Beyond the gate Q could see a jeep and a road leading off down the hill and towards another body of water. For a brief moment, Q wondered if he was on an island. His eyes were fixed on the man by the gate who’s attention kept flipping from one direction to the other, as he watched his fellow guards walk away.

Suddenly, there was a click and a siren started to wail over the guard house. The man standing by the gate turned and stared directly at Q. Q glanced down and realized he had stepped on some kind of alarm. The other men started running back towards him as the first guard rushed Q.

Q took off running  back down the hill further into the trees. Branches and limbs grabbed at him and tore his clothing. He felt a sting across his face as he scratched it. He stumbled over a fallen limb and barely caught himself before he fell. The guards were closer to him, shouting for him to stop.

Suddenly, a sharp stabbing pain arced through his back. Every muscle in his body seized. He clinched his teeth so hard he thought he was going to break his jaw. Even his bladder spasmed. He fell to the ground and roll several feet down the hill. Stopping at the base of a tall elm. His body still in spasm as the guards slowly walked up.

“Hit him again.” One of the guards said.

The first guard lifted his hand and Q saw the Taser.

“No,” he groaned but the guard discharged it anyway.

There was a flash behind Q’s closed eyelids, then nothing.

~Q~

He woke up in what appeared to be some kind of hospital. It was a ward with numerous beds. Some were occupied, some were not. The beds were old fashioned metal framed painted white. The wool blankets were red and tucked in tight with regulation ‘Hospital Corners’.

Slowly Q sat up. He could see his eyeglasses on the table next to him. He put them on then glanced down he was wearing a pair of hideous cotton pajamas, stripped. He sighed heavily and leaned back into the thin pillow.

“Welcome back.” Number Two said.

Q glanced over at him. The portly man was sitting in a chair next to the bed. His walking stick held in both of his hands as he leaned forward onto it. Q leaned back and closed his eyes. He wasn’t ready to deal with Number Two again but he realized he didn’t have much of a choice.

“People will know I’m missing. They will come looking for me.” Q said. His eyes still closed.

“I’m sure you want to believe that.”

Q opened his eyes. “As you said, I am very important. They will be looking for me?”

“Why? You resigned, remember.” Number Two smiled.

“I was supposed to work for another two weeks. My friends – coworkers. They will come looking for me.”

“They will think you decided to just leave early. And friends?” Number Two chortled. “Do you really have friends?”

“Of course I do!” Q nearly shouted.

A woman dressed as a nurse came by. She raised her finger to her lips and shushed the young man. Q glared at her.

Number Two stood. “Put your robe on. Let’s go for a walk.”

Q did as he was told and followed the man out of the ward. The hallways were non-descript grey walls. Doors led off on either side of the hall. Signs were painted on the frosted glass windows. ‘Indoctrination, Education, Re-Education, and Information.’

Q could feel the sweat accumulating across his brow. He was beginning to understand this was more than just some bizarre trick being played on him. It was more than a simple kidnapping.

“Are my cats still alive or have you killed them?” He asked. It was silly but he needed to know. It would tell him something about the morals of the people if they were willing to kill a defenseless animal.

“Your cats? Of yes, very much alive.” Number Two said.

“But not here.”

“No,” he paused as they passed a group of men dressed in white lab coats. “Pets cause jealousy. Can’t have that so no pets. No pets, no alcohol, and no computers. We can’t have discord here in the Village.”

He stopped in front of a door with a round window in the top of it. Q stepped up and looked inside. He saw a long hallway with numerous people sitting on the floor with their legs stretched out in front of them. Their backs to the walls. They were wearing blindfolds and had something that looked like black tape over their mouths. They were all wearing headphones. Black headphones that completely covered their ears. They also were wearing heavy canvas straightjackets.

“Emersion therapy.” Number Two said offhandedly.

“Therapy?” Q asked.

“Yes, makes them more receptive to . . .”

“Programing?” Q interrupted.

Number Two huffed and frowned. “We are not monsters here. We do not relish in the pain of others. But we must have our answers.”

Q glanced back at the people sitting on the floor. Occasionally one would twitch or shiver. He wondered what they were listening to. If it was some kind of brainwashing or auditory torture.

“Why am I not in there with them?” Q asked.

“You are a special case, I have been told. We are to extract your information with consideration of long-term use. In short, we don’t just want what is in there now but what you can provide later on and in the future.” Number Two tapped Q’s temple as he smiled.

“And if I do not cooperate. If I don’t give you what I already have or anything new?”

“Well, there are other options available to us.”

Number Two turned away from the room marked ‘Therapy’. He continued he stroll down the hallways as Q remained beside him. They finally returned to the ward where Q woke up. The bed he had been in, was made. There was a set of strange looking clothes sitting on top of the red blanket. Beside it were three plastic cards.

Number Two pointed to each as he named them. “Your identity card, work card and credit card.”

Q glanced at them. His picture was on each card. He recognized it immediately. It was the same photo that had been on his MI6 identification card.

“You’ve made a mistake.” Q said as he studied the cards.

“Oh have I?” Number Two glance up at Q.

The younger man kept looking at the plastic cards. “You’ve told me that you won’t do anything to me that will harm me. As long as I refuse you, my secrets are my own.”

Number Two smiled again. “Emersion Therapy is for those who are trained to withstand normal indoctrination. Remember there is more than one way to skin a cat.”

Q dropped the cards on the bed and turned towards Number Two. The color had drained from Q’s face. The smile remained on Number Two’s face as he lifted his hand to eye and gave the salute.

“Be seeing you.”

~Q~

Q returned to his small bungalow. The door opened and he stepped in. A woman in a dark blue dress and a sailor’s cap was busy dusting his books.

“Who are you?” Q barked out.

“Hello, I’m 36, your maid.” The woman was younger than Q with a pretty round face and clear blue eyes. Her blond hair was pulled back and pinned underneath the white cap.

“Maid? Maid? I don’t need a maid. I don’t want one. Get out.” Q snapped.

The woman looked confused then her face flushed. She rushed from the room and out of the door. Q ignored her departure as he went to kitchen and started opening drawers and cupboards. His prep knives were gone. His corkscrew and carving set were gone. Anything that could be used as a weapon was gone. He open the cabinets and saw his wine glasses. But something was off. He reached for one and realize they weren’t his. These glasses were plastic. Unbreakable and completely safe. No weapon at all. Frustrated he threw the glass as hard as he could across the room. It bounced off the wall unharmed.

He heard the sharp gasp at the door. He turned to see the younger woman had come back in.

“What do you want?” he snapped.

“My . . . things.” She pointed to a small basket that had her cleaning supplies.

Hesitantly, she stepped forward and picked the basket up. Q came around the end of the counter and blocked her escape from the room.

“Why are you here?” he asked.

“To clean you flat.” She said.

“No – why are you here. Here in the Village?”

“I was born here.” She said. Q could instantly see she was lying.

“No, you weren’t. Why are you here?” He pressed. He grabbed her shoulders, squeezing them tight. “Tell me. Are you one of them or are you prisoner too?”

Her eyes darted around the room as if looking for someone. Q’s eyes followed hers and he saw the small camera in the corner. Then she leaned forward and whispered.

“I’m a prisoner. I was brought here a year ago. They say I can’t leave until I give them something. Anything.”

“Like what?”

“Something. If you . . . please help me. I want to go home. Please . . . tell me something, even if it is a lie that I can give them so I can leave. Anything. Help me. I’m so scared. I just want to go home to my family.” Tears were swelling in her blue eyes.

Q’s fingers pressed into her shoulders. She was beautiful and fragile looking. A single tear broke free from the corner of her eye and slipped down over her pale cheek.

Q pushed her back slightly. “Very good. You are very good, but I’ve seen better. Get out and tell them it didn’t work. It won’t work on me.”

“But . . .” she started.

“I said get out. And take whatever you purposely forgot. Don’t come back.”

She grabbed her basket and fled the room. Q turned and started searching the bungalow for surveillance equipment.

~Q~

Number Two and his assistant watched the video of Q and the maid. Number Two started to giggle as Q started to search.

“I told you it wouldn’t work. He would never fall for something so obvious as her.” Number Two said.

“It was protocol, sir. Required for all new residences. Do you want to move on to level two?” the assistant asked.

Number Two pouted for a moment then grunted. “No, we must try something completely unique for this subject. Something that he would never suspect.”

~Q~

Q found cameras in every room except the bathroom. He found listening devices in every room including the bathroom. Using a butter knife he was able to remove the cameras and microphone. Then he went to learn where the voice of the broadcasts was coming from. There was a small speaker on the shelf in the living room. It was not connected but played music when not making announcements. He could not figure out how to turn it off or how to turn it down. Presently, it sat under the throw pillows on his couch. The music muffled under the pile.

Q was sitting at his table watching out the window. It was pass curfew according to the announcer and the Village was quiet. The lights had automatically shut themselves off about an hour earlier and the whole place was in complete and total darkness.

Q wondered how he was going to get out of this bizarre place with its insane residence. How many of them actually worked here and how many of them were prisoners just like him. And how many of them had been prisoners but had succumb to the ‘therapy’ and become compliant residents.

It was dark and Q sat wondering if anyone back in London was missing him. Did Eve come by to check on him when he didn’t show up to work? Was R put out that he didn’t come in or even call her to warn her he was going to be off? How long until Tanner sent someone to look for him? And most importantly, where were his cats. All these thoughts were going through his head when he saw a movement outside his window.

He sat silently waiting. He had almost decide he had imaged the whole thing when he saw a shape of a man move out of shadows and closer to the window. Q reached for his bent butter knife as a face came closer to the window.

“I’m armed.” Q said trying to sound threating.

The person moved closer to the window and looked in. Q dropped the knife and stood up.  He moved forward but tripped over his own feet.

‘How!? How could it be?!’

The shadow figure moved before Q could reach the window. Whomever it was disappeared before Q could catch him. Shaking and afraid, Q pressed his face to glass to try and see if the shadow was still there. But he knew it wouldn’t be. It couldn’t. The face belonged to a dead man. It was James Bond.

Chapter Text

Q shook as he stood in the middle of his bungalow not certain what had just happened. Was Bond really there or was he hallucinating? Was the agent still alive? After – after Q had blown him up with missiles?

Or was his mind playing tricks on him? Was Q succumbing to the insanity of this place? Maybe Number Two was drugging the food. They had drugged him and that Bond showing up at his flat was only a dream – wishful thinking. The invincible agent that somehow had not been invincible and died had come to rescue Q.

Was Bond really there or was he some delusion? Was it brought on by Number Two’s manipulations or was Q’s subconscious playing tricks on him. Which line of logic was he to believe? Q sat down on his couch, pulling a blanket over his legs. He didn’t want to sleep in the bed in the other room. It would be giving into the illusion of the village and he was refusing to do that. He would hold tight to what he knew was his and make sure to guard his sanity as best he could.

~Q~

The next morning, Q stayed in his flat. The maid arrived again, dressed in her blue dress and sailor’s cap, with his breakfast of tea with fresh fruit and a croissant.

“You should eat more you know. It would be good for you. How about an omelet tomorrow? Or some pancakes?”

“American pancakes?” Q asked as he carefully examined an orange looking for any injection sites.

“American pancakes? Aren’t pancakes the same around the world?”

Q looked at the woman inquisitively. “No. British pancakes are thin and eggy. We fold them up and use lemon juice and caster sugar on them.”

“Sounds awful.” She wrinkled her nose.

“I’m sure treacle sounds worse.” He said.

“I would never eat anything called treacle. It sounds like it’s a squid or something. Be seeing you.” She gave the now memorable salute.

Q watched her leave as he pulled the skin off the orange, satisfied it had not been tampered with. As for the tea, he poured it down the drain. He went his own stash of tea he found in the search of his kitchen. The familiarity of fixing his own cup of tea help his mind focus.

He need to escape. He couldn’t wait for MI6 to launch a rescue even if they knew where he was. Q knew he would have to come up with something himself. And the first thing he needed to do was figure out where the Village was. Q took a sheet of paper out his desk and redrew the map of the Village, adding in important omissions from the original map. Like guard houses and alarms.

The door of his bungalow opened and Number Two blustered in, his walking stick still clutched in his fat hand.

“We’ve been waiting for you down at the tournament.” He said. His voice booming in the small room.

“What tournament?” Q asked.

“Chess. There is someone I want you to meet. I think the two of you will getting along like a house on fire.” Number Two smiled.

“You mean great destruction and emotional loss?” Q asked sarcastically.

That made Number Two burst out in boisterous laughter. He took Q by the arm and led him out of the house. They climbed into the trolly that was waiting and drove down through the village back to the Elderly Home.

Number Two got out and walked over to the patio where several tables were set up. Just as advertised, numerous games of chess were going on. At a far table was a man sitting by himself. His back was turned towards the other people gathered on the lawn. He was square shouldered and his hair was a silver grey. He seemed to be watching the helicopter approach and land.

Number Two led Q over the man and just as they arrived, Number Two said. “Number Six, let me introduce 007.”

Q’s stomach dropped. He twisted quickly to stare at Number Two. The pudgy man was looking down at the man sitting. He didn’t noticed the color draining for Q’s face.

The man sitting down stood and turned to the two men.

“Good morning, Mr. Stromberg.” The man said.

Q turned and looked at him. He was older but he still gave the impression of someone who had led an active energetic life. He was much older than Bond. And taller. His hair was silver grey but at one time it must had been auburn. His eyes were a sharp blue and his face was even and well balanced. He was attractive even being a man in his late seventies.

Number Two laughed again then turned to Q. “He believe I’m one of his former adversaries, Curt Stromberg.” He turned back to the other man. “No, I’m Number Two, Number Eighty-nine.”

“That is not my name. Rogers, Simon Rogers.” The man said smugly. He held out his hand.

Q recognized the name immediately. Simon Rogers had been a double ‘O’ back in the Seventies and Eighties. It was a cautionary tale for the agents. Rogers had been a legend in the field of espionage. He was successful and lethal. Killing more enemy agents then any other double ‘O’. He was also arrogant and smug. He unfortunately had become addicted to heroin. It happened during a joint mission with the CIA in the Caribbean. He had successfully stopped the conduit but had become hooked on the drug. His hallucination started to affect his work. The file Q had read stated that he had disappeared after he claimed he had been having laser gun fights in outer space. Missing presumed dead was the conclusion. There were no further inquiries or admissions to Roger’s file.

“Eighty-nine you’ve been told that is not your name.” Number Two said firmly. “Do you need to go to Re-education again.”

The man seemed to melt into himself. “No. That won’t be necessary.”

He quickly sat back down and turned to watch the helicopter.

“Why did you call him 007?” Q asked quietly.

“He was a double ‘O’ once, many years ago. He was retired here by MI6.”

Q glared at Number Two. “You’re lying.”

“Am I? Sit, play chess with him. Question him. Know that any loyalty to MI6 is misplaced. They will discard you like yesterday’s rubbish.”

Q wanted to argue but he couldn’t be certain that MI6 didn’t send him here. He went and sat down opposite the Rogers. Q reached up and moved his white pawn forward.

Roger’s attention hesitated for a moment then he glanced down at the chess board. He smiled and moved his black pawn to block Q’s.

“Shall we?”

Q looked back at the board then moved his knight out and behind the pawn. Roger’s attention returned again to the helicopter. Q glanced over his shoulder at the passenger being removed from the helicopter on a gurney. She was young with ginger hair. She looked very pale.

“One of Octopussy’s girls.” Roger said. He moved another chess piece.

Q glanced back. “Who?”

“Octopussy. She is the head of an international group of female assassins.”

Q frowned, uncertain if it was true or another one of Rogers’ hallucinations. Q moved his knight.

“That’s how they arrive you know.” Roger continued. He moved his rook forward.

“Who?”

“Everyone who is brought here as a prisoner. They are brought here by helicopter – drugged and strapped to a gurney.”

“Were you?” Q asked.

“I don’t remember.” He moved his bishop.

“How long have you been here?” Q asked. He moved another pawn forward.

Roger looked down at the chessboard. Roger captured Q’s pawn with his own pawn. “Question and doubt never brings happiness.”

Q blinked at the comment. It sounded like something one would hear in a cult. Or someone who had been programmed. He moved his bishop to capture the black pawn.

“Questions bring understanding and insight.” Q replied.

Roger smiled and moved his queen forward to take Q’s bishop. Q’s knight took Roger’s rook. Roger frowned.

“Do you remember MI6?” Q asked unobtrusively.

Roger looked up then glared at the younger man. Q quickly remember that sitting before him was once one of the most deadliness men in the world. He had more than two hundred kills to his name. Even at seventy, Simon Rogers was still dangerous.

“Why would you be interested in what I do and don’t remember?”

“Do you remember M?” Q’s mind slipped back over the past directors of MI6. “Bernard Lee?”

“Is this a trap? Did Number Two send you to trap me?”

Q leaned back away from the man. “I was just asking . . . no. I work for MI6. I am the Quartermaster.”

Roger scrunched his face up as if studying something ludicrous. “Don’t be ridiculous. You! A Quartermaster? Never.”

Roger’s hand swept over the chess board, flinging the pieces off the table. He stood and walked off leaving Q doubting even more.

Q watched as the man marched off across the lawn. The propellers of the helicopter began to rotate and the craft slowly lifted off the ground. It swung off low over the sea wall and then lifted higher into the air and out over the water.

Q looked around at the other tables and the other people playing chest. No one seemed to be watching the helicopter leave. It was as if they had all resigned to being held captive in this strange place. He stood up and walked back to the main road. He followed the narrow paths and alleys that the trollies couldn’t use as he walked back to his bungalow. By the time he reached it he had the beginnings of an escape plan.

Chapter Text

Fourteen months ago on an island in the Sea of Okhotsk

“Bond, get out of there!” Q’s voice crackled over the transmitter.

“It’s okay Q. It’s what needs to be done.”

Bond was resigned. His voice was calm and sightly sad. This is what he had to do. This is what was best for everyone.

“Bond, Madeline – Matilda, what about them?” Q voice broke with emotion. Bond could imagine the panicked look on the younger man’s face. The wide green eyes and the intense stare.

“It’s better for them, Q. It’s better for everyone.”

“Bond, PLEASE!” Q shouted. Bond could hear the desperation in the man’s voice. It bothered him that he was making Q upset. But he didn’t have time to dwell on why it bothered him. Soon it would be over and everyone could get back to their lives – without him.

“I’m sorry Q.” The words tasted bitter. He could feel a sting in his eyes.

‘Don’t think about it.’ He thought to himself.

“BOND!” Q shouted.

 Bond leaned against the metal frame of the large blast doors. The missiles were streaking across the sky. In a way, it was quite beautiful to watch them as their silver bodies sailed through rich blue sky. They burst into dozens of individual bombs falling like stars down upon him.

Then just before the first one made contact with the ground, he moved.

His body moved without his command. He flung himself back into the concrete structure and towards the stairs. The missile hit and a blast of white-hot air blew through the open doors, pushing him down the concrete stairs and into the darkness. He rolled down a flight. His back hit hard on the landing. His ears stung with sound of the explosion. He struggled to get up – to move, but his arm didn’t want to work. He stumbled to the edge of the stairs as the second missile hit. The top of the building was ripped off. He fell down the steps landing again on the concrete floor. The building shook and then there was a distant rumble and shaking.

Bond pushed himself down one more flight of stairs, sliding on his stomach as he did. The rumbling got louder and the building shook more violent. The building collapsed in upon itself. Trapping Bond within the stairwell. Blocked from above and below. In complete and total darkness. Entombed.

His shoulder ached and he could feel the burns across his neck and back. He wondered why he was so stupid. If he had remained up on the parapet he would be dead now. Running back into the building had been stupid. He was trapped in the rubble and would die much more slowly and painfully.

He laid down on the cool concrete letting it sooth his burns. He closed his eyes and waited for death to finally come for him.

Who came for him was the Japanese Navy two days later. Men in hazmat suits found him on the landing of the second story. They seem utterly surprised to find anyone alive in the building. He was dehydrated and suffering from second- and third-degree burns. His left shoulder was broken and his left hand was severely damaged.

They evacuated him back to a military base on Hokkaido. When he was able to be interviewed he requested to speak to Tanaka, the head of the Japanese secret service, the PSIA. Bond woke four days after his rescue to see the older man standing over him. Tanaka, known by the code name ‘Tiger’, was in his late sixties. His face had the wrinkles of a continuous scowl. The corners of his mouth drawn down and his eyes tilted in that direction too.

“Bond-san, you have cheated death again.” Tanaka’s voice was deep and gravelly.

“Or it cheated me.” Bond said. “Does MI6 know I’m alive?”

“Not yet. I was waiting to speak to you before we notified them.”

Bond eased back into his pillows.

“Don’t tell them I’m alive. Let me stay dead for a while.”

“Why?” Tanaka asked suspiciously.

“I am infected with genetically targeted nanobots. They are lethal.”

Tanaka’s salt and pepper eyebrows rose. “Towards you or someone else?”

“Someone else. My daughter and her mother.” Bond said.

Tanaka’s frown intensified. The lips became thinner as the creases in his face deepened.

“How long ago?” Tanaka asked. He didn’t seemed surprised by the information of about the nanobots.

“The day of the explosion.” Bond said.

“A week ago. Not a problem.” Tanaka said.

Bond seemed confused. “I was told there was no cure.”

“Your information was wrong. We’ve used nanobots for medical procedures and found them to be problematic. As a result we discovered a process to remove them from the human body.”

“Completely?” Bond asked.

“As completely as needed.”

“If there are any left -  even one, I could kill my daughter if I touched her.” Bond said. His blue eyes turning hard.

“Do not worry, yujin. Trust me.” Tanaka smiled. It reminded Bond of a shark.

For the next thirty-six days – every  day, Bond was rolled into an MRI for half an hour. The magnetic fields compromised the nanobots for a short period of time. While they were compromised, Bond’s blood was phereses. Drawn out of one arm, run through another magnetic field then spun in a blood pheresis machine where the various components of his blood were separated out according to their weigh and density. Red blood cells, white blood cells, platelets and nanobots. The nanobots were siphoned off then the cleaned blood was returned to his body through his other arm. The whole process took almost two hours a day. Two hours of needles and MRI machines and immobility for thirty-six days.

It was tedious and painful. Halfway through the treatment, the veins in Bond’s arms began to collapse. The doctors moved on to other sites on Bond’s body. The half hour he spent in the MRI was the most difficult for Bond. He needed to remain completely still while trapped in a tube smaller than a coffin. He found the only way his mind could tolerate it was to keep his eyes shut and focus on something else.

For a while it was about getting to see Madeline and Mathilda again. Try as he could, he was unable to forget how he had shoved the pregnant Madeline on the train in Italy. How he quickly doubted her and how she so easily withheld the truth about Mathilda from him. Even when he questioned about the child’s blue eyes, Madeline continued to deceive him.

He thought about every time she told him she wanted nothing to do with the world of her father and spies but that was where he found her again. Working for MI6. Sheltering within the thing she protested over and over again she hated and wanted him to abandon.

It was obvious that he never really did trust Madeline and when confronted with the possibility she had betrayed him it was easy to believe. And what about Mathilda. Yes, she was his daughter. But he didn’t know her and more importantly, she didn’t know him. Madeline had kept him a secret from their daughter. Would pushing himself into the child’s life be good? Would it give her the stability a child needed? Was Bond a ‘stable’ father?

Laying still in the MRI gave him too much time to think about these questions. Too much time to wonder if returning to the mother and child was what was best for all of them. He wasn’t the family type. He wasn’t the man to go to an office job then come home to a house and responsibilities. It wasn’t him. It would never be him. There were too many ghosts in his life. To many scars.

After two weeks of having nothing to do but think, he realized he really didn’t have anything to go back to.

It wouldn’t work. He knew it wouldn’t work. That was the reason he walked out of that building and onto the parapet while missiles were coming, in the first place. Better he was dead than be a disaster of father to his daughter.

The further into the treatment he went the less he wanted it to work. After thirty-six days and he was pronounced free of nanobots, he felt as trapped as he was in the stairwell. The skin grafts for his burned skin were healing and he shoulder was mobile again. The doctors discharged him and he shook Tanaka’s hand and thanked him for not notifying anyone he was alive still. Bond needed to make decisions about his future and he needed to do it without influences from his past.

He stepped out onto the Tokyo street. The pavements were full of pedestrians and cars streamed pass him on the street. He waved down a taxi and it pulled over quickly. He stepped forward to open the back door when he felt two people step up to him on either side. There was the sting of an injection and then he felt himself being pushed into the back seat of the car.

The door slammed as someone shouted, “Iku, iku!”

The car took off as unconsciousness overtook him.

~Q~

He woke up in his bed from his London flat. But not was not in his London flat. He had given that up five years ago when he left with Madeline. He had sold the flat and put his belongings in storage.

He sat up and looked around. The bed was a large open room divided onto three different levels. His bed and nightstand were on the highest level. His favorite reading chair was up on the platform with the bed. A lamp was next to the chair and a bookshelf just off to the right of the chair. A railing stretched out just to the right of the bed.

Three steps down from the bedroom area was a small kitchenette with a counter and bar stools. Then three more steps down was a living room area with the chase lounge and couch from his home in London. Some of furniture from Jamaica were there too, along with paintings and pictures. It was like his home in St. Mary but not his home.

He opened a closet and found clothes he had never seen before. They were knit jerseys and dark blue jackets with white trim. The cut was old fashion and completely out of style. They were in his size as were the trainers he found on the floor of the closet.

He was surprised to find the front door of the strange studio flat unlocked. He stepped outside and into a bizarre neighborhood. It was like a medieval Italian village on drugs. The buildings were painted a rainbow of colors. The streets were narrow and twisty without reason. He saw a tall bell tower that hovered over the strange village. He took the steps two at time until he reached the top. The tower gave him a view of the whole village and the surrounding countryside.

The village was set in the valley between two hills. Lush green vegetation was everywhere. There were plants, flowers, and trees but they didn’t appear to be from the Mediterranean. There was a great expanse of foreshore stretching out from the docks. Then a dark blue sea off to the horizon. He could see land in the distance. It could have been several miles but he knew they had to be in some kind of estuary because of the evidence of a substantial tide.

Then he heard the sound of a marching band and his eyes fell upon the lawn in the middle of the village. A broad stretch of grass that led up to a graveled plaza with an oval reflecting pool. A small marching band of six or seven musicians paraded through playing a Strauss march. Further down the lawn, Bond saw a large chessboard laid out with colored pebbles. People were being used as chess pieces in the life-size game. Every move brought applause from the crowd watching.

Confused and disoriented, Bond came down out of the tower and started wandering through the strange village. He heard various languages from all over the world. There was English, Russian, German, and Chinese. He found a small shop and went inside.

It was some kind of old fashion grocery store. There were a few vegetables and can goods. A glass covered counter with meats and poultry. There was small selection of reading materials in various languages with the same picture on every cover. The shopkeeper behind the counter appeared to be a jovial man with a barrel chest and broad smile. He wore his apron tied high around his waist and a straw boater hat on his bald head.

“Good day sir, and what can I get for ya’ today.” His voice was loud and friendly. He was English.

“A map.” Bond said. He thought he might be able to figure out where he was by looking at the coastline if the map didn’t provide adequate names.

“A map, yes indeed. Right here.” The shopkeeper handed Bond a small fold out map.

Bond looked at it. The map was just of the village. Lawn, hospital, bandstand, Home for the Elderly, municipal building. Frustrated, Bond glared at the other man.

“No, a larger map of the area.”

Confused the shopkeeper glanced around his small store. He came out from behind his counter and went over to the various magazines. He thumbed through the pile until he came to a folded map. It appeared to be larger to Bond.

Bond grabbed it and immediately opened it up. It was an exact duplicate of the small version the shopkeeper first showed him. Except the everything on the map was enlarged to fill up the extra space on sheet of paper.

Frustrated, Bond stormed out of the shop. A small trolly was parked just in front of the building. A plump man with round face and sagging jowls sat in the backseat. An old-fashioned spectator’s stick clutched by his sausage fingers. Bond recognized him as the same face that had been on the magazines in the store.

“Good morning Number Seven.”

Bond twitched slightly at the name. He narrowed his eyes at the stranger.

“I think you have me mistaken for someone else.” Bond said.

“No, you are Number Seven. Welcome to the Village. I’m Number Two.” He patted the seat beside him. “Climb in.”

“I’m not who you think I am.” Bond said, remaining fixed to his place on the pavement.

“I know exact who you are. Who you were and who you will be.”

“Are you omnipotent?” Bond smirked.

“Yes, just like God.” Number Two smiled. “Get in, there are things we need to discuss.”

Hesitantly, Bond climbed into the trolly and sat down next to the stranger. The trolly took off with a toot of its horn. Bond watched as the strange little village passed by him.

“Why are you calling me Number Seven?” Bond asked suspiciously.

“I thought it would funny you having been another number seven for so many years.”

“If you are Number Two, who is Number One?” Bond asked.

Number Two ignored him but kept on talking about Bond’s history.

“You were an operative for the British Secret Service. One of their special Double ‘O’s. You retired five years ago with a Madeline Swann but later left her in Italy and settled in St. Mary, Jamaica. You returned to England after the death of the CIA agent Felix Leiter. You were sent to an island in the Sea of Okhotsk to stop something called Project Heracles.”

Bond sat silently listening to the man beside him.

“The island installation was destroyed by two missiles fired from a British Naval vessel. You were listed as killed in action. Body never retrieved.”

“Clerical error.” Bond said as the trolly finally rolled to a stop.

Number Two burst out laughing as he climbed out of the trolly at a grey building down by the seawall. It was low tide and the foreshore stretched out in front of them. Several hundred feet of wet sand that was hard enough to drive on.

“Very good, very good. Now tell me, Number Seven, were you infected with Heracles?”

Bond turned and stared at the man. Number Two had a significant amount of information regarding Bond’s mission. He didn’t know how the man had gotten it but it was obvious it wasn’t through normal channels.

“Ask Number One.” Bond said.

“I’m asking you, Number Seven.”

“I am not a number, I am a man!” Bond affirmed.

Number Two laughed again. “That’s not true either, Number Seven. You’ve been a number for years, haven’t you. Many years.”

Bond glanced around and noticed there wasn’t anyone who appeared to be guarding them. He turned quickly and punched Number Two in the face. Then he ran to the seawall and jumped easily over it and onto the sand. He took off running before Number Two could sit up.

Number Two watched as Bond ran as hard as he could towards the far end of the foreshore. Two brought his left wrist up to his face and pressed the button on the side of his watch. His assistance face appeared on the screen.

“Yes, sir.”

“Orange Alert. Number Seven is making a break for it. Orange Alert.” Number Two said into the watch.

Suddenly a siren was heard throughout the village.

“Orange Alert. Orange Alert. Number Seven in sector two. Capture and retrieve. Orange Alert.” There was an announcement that could be heard throughout the Village.

 Several people from the Village took off running after Bond. They were too far back to catch him, but they were able to keep him in visible range. The helicopter took off and joined into the chase.

Bond’s legs were getting tired. His long stay in the hospital had weakened his stamina. His chest was burning but he need to keep running. He could hear the shouts of the people chasing him and the sound of the approaching helicopter. He ran as fast as he could but he could feel himself slowing.

The helicopter swooped low over him once and Bond fell to the ground to avoid it. He scrambled to his feet and took off running again as the helicopter circled around. Bond glanced up to see the man hanging out of the side of it with a strange looking rifle. Bond dodged again as he heard the crack of the rifle. Instead of a bullet, the rifle shot out a game net for trapping running animals. The heavy cargo net wrapped around Bond’s legs and he fell to the ground again tangled in the ropes. He kicked and pulled at the net as the crowd caught up to him. He glance up to see a man dressed in a uniform point a small gun at him. There was a pop and the dart entered Bond’s thigh.

The tranquillizer burned as it entered his body. He kept struggling with the net, but his limbs became heavy and he could no longer fight. Bond laid unconscious on the wet sand as the villagers surrounded him.

~Q~

Bond woke up in bed again in the strange studio flat. Number Two was stretched out on his chase lounge reading one of Bond’s books. When he noticed Bond was awake he closed the book and sat up.

“That was very foolish of you.” Number Two said. “Where did you think you were going?”

“For a drink.” Bond said as he stood up.

His head began to pound with every beat of his heart. He was dizzy and he took a moment to steady himself.

“Drinking alcohol is not permitted here.”

Bond leaned heavily on the railing and stared down at the man on the lower level.  

“Is that all or are there other rules I need to know about?” Bond asked sarcastically.

“No alcohol, smoking, stimulates or pets.” Number Two said.

“No pets?” Bond asked thinking he really needed to get out of this place if the other restrictions were true.

“Pets cause jealousy. We can’t have that. And something I’ve been told that specifically is required of you . . . no sexual intercourse.”

“Seriously?”

“It causes resentment when residents finally leave.” Number Two seemed indifferent by the conversation.

“So I will be able to leave – eventually?”

Number Two ignored Bond’s question.

“You are very lucky that we found you in Tokyo when we did.”

Slowly Bond stepped down into the kitchenette. He went to the sink and filled a glass with water. After taking a long drink he said.

“Forgive me if I don’t share in your appraisal of the situation.” Bond’s head still hurt from the drug.

“You should you know. We were lucky you didn’t fall into the wrong hands.” Number Two said.

“And whose hands would have been the wrong ones?” Bond asked as he turned to look at the man.

“That would be telling.” Number Two smiled. He stood up and walked towards the door while speaking, “Now be a good little soldier and maybe someday you will be allowed to leave too.”

“And by being a good little soldier I’m required to do what?”

“Tell us all your secrets.” Number Two brought his hand up to his face and made a gesture with his thumb and forefinger. “Be seeing you.”

Chapter Text

It had been six months since Bond said goodbye to Tanaka and stepped out onto that Tokyo street.

Bond spent hours in the tower watching birds fly by. Today there was a flock of about twenty birds. They were dark, maybe black, but not starlings. He wasn’t sure what kind of birds they were but he was certain they were not sea birds. If the village was on an island, then the island was close to the mainland.

To the best of his knowledge he had been in the village for six months. The weather had shifted and it was quite cold now. The trees had lost their leaves and a bitter wind blew from the North. There had been hints of snow but a freezing rain was common. He felt the village had to be in the northern hemisphere given the change in the seasons.

At night Bond studied the stars before curfew forced him inside his bungalow. He was not an astronomer but he knew the stars were not in the same location as they were in the Japanese or the Caribbean skies. So the village was somewhere in the Western Hemisphere but not as far as the Americas. Not as far north as the Baltic but maybe as far south as the Liguria region of Italy or the northern Adriatic Sea. More than likely the village was somewhere in Western Europe. Maybe even somewhere in Great Britain.

At night he sat reading one of his books about Lord Nelson. The curfew announcement had been about half an hour earlier. The book had maps showing the various locations of Nelson’s battles. Bond’s finger slowly traced along the coastlines of the two-hundred-year-old maps in hopes of finding something familiar.

The door of his flat opened and one of the maids came in. She was an older woman with the number 548 pinned to her apron. She nodded to him then went to the kitchenette and started the evening ritual of making warm cocoa. Bond was not a fan of warm cocoa before bed but given it had almost eight months since he had had a drink of scotch or a cigarette, he was more than willing to have any form of indulgences left to him.

He was stretched out on the chase lounge. With the book held in his hands, he covertly watched the woman make the warm cocoa then take it up to nightstand beside his bed. She carefully and neatly turned down the covers and fluffed the pillows, readying the bed for him.

She walked down the small stairs and then gave him the familiar salute of the rounded fingers encircling the eye. “Be seeing you.”

He gave her the salute back without saying a word. He waited several minutes, finishing the final few paragraphs in the chapter he was reading before he closed the book and climbed the stairs to his bed. The cocoa was still warm and sheets smelled clean and fresh. He thought it would be a good night. Hopefully, there would be no strange dreams to interrupt his sleep.

He sipped the cocoa. It tasted good. Then he felt odd. A sudden sensation of a swelling of his head as his vision blurred and he began to tumble forward. He couldn’t stop himself and he fell from the bed and onto the floor. He never heard the front door open or the men come in with the gurney.

~Q~

Bond woke up in bed. The covers were tight up against his neck. He sat up as a rush of adrenaline sailed through him.

Something was wrong. He thought.

He glanced around the studio flat but everything was as he had left it the night before. The front door was closed and the room looked secured. The empty cocoa cup was in its saucer on the nightstand next to his bed. Everything seemed normal but his senses were telling him something was not.

He reached with his left hand to turn on the lamp when he noticed the bruise on the inside of wrist. Small and tender. He looked at it closely and thought he saw a needle mark. He couldn’t remember injuring it. He couldn’t remember much, but the strange dream he had the previous night.

He dreamed he was in Cuba with the CIA operative Paloma. He was at the party, dressed in his tuxedo as he wandered through the other guests. They were there to find the Dr. Obruchevr and return him to Felix. It was to be a simple mission. In and out before anyone knew what happened. Then suddenly everyone turned and stared at him. A spotlight from above focused on him. He was trapped. They knew who he was. Then something like glitter fell from the ceiling. Several members of the crowd started to cough and grab at their throats. They collapsed as other watched in horror. Men and women dying in seconds simply from breathing in the air.

Bond didn’t know why he dreamed about that mission with Paloma. It had been unremarkable except for the release of Heracles on the crowd. It wasn’t the type of mission that brought about nightmares that lasted for weeks or months. He had never really been in any danger until just before leaving. And even then, Paloma was the one who did most of the fighting. It was what happened later with Felix that would bring the nightmares. He couldn’t imagine why he would dream of Cuba and Paloma.

~Q~

The next day he woke up suddenly. His heart was pounding and his head hurt. There was a metallic taste in the back of his mouth. He blinked his eyes repeatedly before he registered he was in his bed in the studio flat. His skin was still damp from sweat and he felt the pulse of adrenaline through his veins.

Subconsciously he knew something was wrong. Something was off. His head hurt like he had been drinking. The pounding from every beat of his heart. And the metallic taste in his mouth – it reminded him of something he couldn’t quite place. It was almost like he had been drugged with a phenobarbital.

He glanced down at his hand and noticed a second bruise on his wrist.

He threw the covers off himself and rushed to the bathroom. He stared at his reflection and tried to remember. What had he dreamed? Was it real or was it something else? Maybe an interrogation?

He was walking beside Tanner. He was back at Vauxhall. He was to see someone. Tanner was talking to him. He was warning Bond. Then he saw her. Madeline. Still as beautiful – still distant.

“Of course I can remain professional.” Bond muttered.

He followed her into a security ward. They were alone waiting for the doors to unlock.

“I can’t do this!” She declared then turned to leave.

He grabbed her arm and he could see the fear in her eyes. He let go and she ran away from him. Afraid of – Bond didn’t know exactly.

The door unlock and Bond turned to see him. His brother – Franz. But Franz was dead, this was Blofeld. He taunted Bond. Said all the things that made Bond wish he had shot him on that bridge five years ago. Finally, Bond broke and wrapped his hands around Blofeld’s neck. It would have been easy. Just squeeze but Mallory came in and stopped him. Bond let go of Blofeld and stepped back. Then suddenly, the man started to gasp and shake. He was in agony. Within seconds Blofeld was dead. Dead by Bond’s hands. By his touch.

Number Two had been asking Bond for months now about Project Heracles. And Bond had refused to give him anything. Even when they had tried torturing him in the Emersion Therapy room he had remained silent.

He never dreamed about what led up to the island. He never thought about the two time he was exposed to the nanobots before he went to the island any considerations. It had just happened. It didn’t mean anything to him. Why was he dreaming about it now? Obviously, Number Two had found another way to get the information he wanted from Bond.

~Q~

The maid set the cup of warm cocoa on the nightstand next to Bond’s bed. She then carefully pulled the covers down and prepared the bed for the evening. Bond stepped out of the bathroom dressed in his robe and pajama bottoms. She turned and gave the ‘Be Seeing You’ salute and he returned it. He waited until she left before he picked up the cup and saucer.

He carefully sniffed at the warm cocoa trying to detect the tranquilizer but he couldn’t. It smelled of chocolate and cream. He moved nonchalantly down the steps to the kitchenette, pretending to be drinking the cocoa. When he got to the sink, he covertly poured the drink down the drain and set the cup and saucer down. He hesitated for a moment, then collapsed to the floor.

The door opened within a minute and two men came in with a gurney. They carefully picked Bond up off the floor and laid him down on the gurney. They covered him with a blanket and securing him with belts. Bond was rolled out of the flat and placed in a wagon being pulled by one of the trollies.

Less than twenty minutes later, Bond was being rolled into a building he didn’t recognize. The walls were grey and plain. The overhead lighting was industrial fluorescent. He remained still and only barely opened his eyes. He listened carefully to any voices he heard. He didn’t recognize anyone.

He was rolled into a room and lifted from the gurney to an examination table. Above the head of the table was a light with rotating filters. Pulses of red, green, blue, and yellow light flashed down on his face. It was painful and would be giving him a headache if he stayed too long under it.

“We must have the information tonight.”

Bond heard Number Two’s voice. But he wasn’t in the room with him. It was coming in from a speaker somewhere.

“I can’t push him any harder. The drug could cause permanent damage.” It was a woman’s voice he had never heard before.

“We need that information. Get it.” There was click and then the woman sighed heavily.

“They don’t understand. I could kill you – what will happen then? What will Number Two do to me then.” She spoke to the prone Bond.

Bond remained still on the table. He listened as she move around him. He felt a cool drum of a stethoscope press to his chest. Then her fingers wrapped around his wrist checking his pulse.

“Well, you are quite the specimen, Number Seven. I’ve never been able to interrogate someone three times in a row.”

He felt the cold rub of alcohol over his wrist. He moved quickly. He twisted his hand and grabbed the woman’s own wrist before she could inject the syringe into him. He grabbed the syringe from her hand the quickly plunged it into her arm through her white lab coat, smoothly injecting the drug into her.

Her scream was no more than a gasp as she sagged in his grip and fell into him. He stood and guided her to take his place on the table. The rotating light tinting her face.

“Why am I here?” he asked as he leaned over her.

“To supply information.” She said softly.

“What information?”

“Project Heracles.” She said.

“Who wants it?”

“Number One.”

“Who is Number One.”

Her face wrinkled in frustration. “I . . . I don’t know.”

“Who is Number One?” Bond asked forcefully.

“I don’t know.” She repeated. Her eyelids squeezed tight.

“How did you come to the village?” He asked.

“Helicopter.”

“Where is the village? Which country?”

“I was blindfolded. I don’t know.” She started to shake her head. Sweat broke out across her brow. “Stop . . . no . . . I don’t want too. Don’t make me!”

Bond leaned back and listened.

“Please, no . . . I’m a doctor . . . I can’t . . . my oath.” She looked like she was in pain.

“What are they asking you to do?” Bond asked.

The door opened and several guards came in. Bond spun to attack them. The first one swung a small club at Bond’s shoulder. Bond ducked and then punched the man exposed side with his fist. He felt the man’s ribs give as air was expelled from his lungs. The guard collapsed with a groan as the other guards attacked. Another swung at Bond and Bond ducked again. But a third guard hit Bond in the back with his club. Then the second guard swung again and hit Bond’s thigh. Bond fell to the floor and two men continued to hit him.

“Stop it! Stop it! Stop it!” Number Two shouted.

From the floor, Bond twist to see the man’s face on a large television screen mounted on the wall.

“We need him alive!”

The guards backed away from Bond who was still kneeling on the floor. His arms covering his head to protect it.

“Get up Number Seven.” Number Two ordered.

Glaring, Bond slowly stood up. Adrenaline pumping through his veins. The need to attack the other men almost overwhelming.

“You’ve ruined months of planning you know.” Number Two complained.

“Don’t expect me to apologize.” Bond said as he straighten out.

“No, I don’t expect you would. Take him back to his bungalow. And call Number Sixty-three’s assistant.”

The television screen went black. The guards grabbed Bond by the arms and dragged him out of the room as two other people came running in wearing white lab coats. Another attempt to get information failed.

~Q~

The next six months were broken up with other attempts to trick Bond into giving up anything he knew about Heracles. There was threats of more torture. Drug induced interrogations. Promises of release and the heart crushing failures of escape. The final one involved Bond trying to steal the helicopter.

After the helicopter landed again on the lawn behind the sea wall, Bond felt his resilience start to shatter. He tried everything he could think of. He felt truly alone and abandoned. His thoughts turned dark as he returned to the tower. It was a drop of only forty or fifty feet but it was far enough if he didn’t fight it he could be killed.

He leaned over and looked down at the cobblestones at the foot of the tower. It would be painful. He probably would be killed immediately. His fingertips dug into the stones as he contemplated the possibilities before him. His body exposed to the bright sun – hot on his face.

Then he saw the man.

Bond’s mind snapped back into mission mode.

He leaned back into the shadows of the tower and watched as the dark-haired man dashed down the streets. Rushing back and forth as if looking. Lost and confused in the strange village.

Bond would know that mop of dark hair anywhere. That lean body and pale skin. The dark framed glasses. It was Q. His Q. In the Village.

Now the question was why?

Chapter Text

Q’s introduction to Simon Rogers was the final push he needed. By the time he returned to the bungalow he had the seed of a plan. He just need to find supplies. He spent the evening and most of the night writing lists of what he needed. Of possible scenarios of escape. The feeling he was being watched crept over him like a weed growing and entangling him. Throughout the night, he kept glancing over his shoulder at the window. He kept expecting to see Bond there but the agent never was. Q forced himself to believe Bond was a hallucination brought on by the stress. But he had looked so really the night before.

He was woken in the morning by the maid coming in with his breakfast. He had fallen asleep at the desk. His head cradled in his folded arms. His glasses had pressed into his face, leaving creases in his face and dark smudges were present under his eyes.

The maid tutted at him. “You should sleep in your own bed, sweetie.”

“I would like to, but it’s in London and not here.”

She gave him a patronizing smile but ignored his comment.

“Look what I brought you today.” She said with her stiff smile.

As promised, it was American styled pancakes. He refused them.

“You don’t need to come back tomorrow. I’ll fix my own breakfast.” He said.

“Breakfast is the most important meal of the day,” she said cheerily. Her voice set his teeth on edge.

“No, I would prefer to fix my own.”

“But you only drink tea and eat an orange. That’s not enough for a young man like you. You need more.”

“I will be fine. Thank you.” He tried to avoid swearing at the woman. He wanted to believe she was just stupid and not one of his captors. She might even be a prisoner herself. Forced to do menial work as a way to break down her defenses. But he still didn’t trust her.

The woman shrugged her shoulders and left. The tray of food sat on the counter in front of Q. He glared down at it then up into the corner where the camera was.

“I will cook my own meals now.” He said in a loud and clear voice.

The camera didn’t answer him, but Q could imagine the rolled eyes of the watchers.

He fixed his tea as he always did and ignored the food on the tray. He showered, shaved, and dressed. When he left the bungalow, the tray of food was gone.

He had seen a map of the Village and remembered a grocery store listed. That would be the best place to start collecting his supplies for escape.

As soon as he closed the door of the bungalow, the sensation of being watched came back to him. It was like ants crawling under his skin as he walked down the road. He didn’t have the same feeling in the bungalow where he knew he was being watched by the cameras. This was different and felt more dangerous. Like he was almost being hunted.

It was a short walk to the small grocery store. It was like a country store. A single clerk and shelves crammed with items. A small display of fresh fruits and vegetables and very little variety.  A jovial clerk wearing a straw boater was standing behind the counter. His white apron tied high around his waist. He was serving a middle-aged couple as Q glanced around the store. Q picked up a wicker basket and began shop.

Q was perusing over the fresh fruit when the small bell above the door rang. Everyone turned to see the young woman enter. She was thin and gingered haired. Her green eyes were wide and blood shot. Dark smudges were under them. They flashed between the four people in the store. It looked like she was about to bolt out the door when she suddenly moved towards the vegetables glancing hesitantly at Q.

Q gave her sideways glance as she seemed to look at the tomato. He thought she was going to say something then she abruptly turned and walked away. She grabbed a box of cereal off the shelf and  opened it. Quicky, she grabbed a handful and shoved it into her mouth.

“I think you are supposed to pay for that first before you eat it.” Q said with a placating smile.

She glanced back at him, then took another mouthful. Swallowing quickly, she said, “I don’t have any money.” Her accent was distinctively Scottish.

“They don’t take money here. You have to use a credit card.” Q said.

“I don’t have a credit card. They took away all my ID’s and bank cards. I don’t even have my wallet.” She said.

Q pulled out the credit card Number Two had given him. “Something like this?”

She glanced at the card then reached into her pocket and pulled out three separate cards. Holding them out to Q.

“I found these when I woke up.”

He looked down at the cards and saw the photo. It looked like any other governmental ID photo. Black and white with a neutral almost sad expression on the girl’s face. He pointed to the last card in her hand.

“That’s your credit card,” he said. Then he returned to picking out some apples.

She stepped closer and whispered. “Where are we?”

Q studied her face and realized she was the young woman he had seen on the gurney the day before. When he had been playing chess with Eighty-nine, down by the Retirement home.

He twisted his body so the clerk and the other couple couldn’t see his face. “I don’t know. It’s some kind of prison to interrogate people.”

“Interrogate?!” her voice squeaked loudly. Q place his hand on her arm to calm her. She leaned closer and whispered, “Are they going to torture us?”

“No . . . I don’t think so. They haven’t really done anything physical to me.”

But Q knew that he was a special case. Number Two had told him he was. That he wouldn’t be physically harmed. The young woman may not be as lucky.

“I don’t know anything that anyone would want to torture me for. I just work in an office.” She said.

“Which office? What do they do there?” Q asked.

She leaned in and started to say, “It’s in London. The Ministry of  . . .” Then she stopped and looked doubtful at Q. She leaned away from him. A wary expression returned to her face. “Why do you want to know?”

“It’s not important.” Q said.

He turned and took his fruits and vegetables to the counter and laid them down. The couple gave the familiar salute to the clerk and left. The clerk turned and frowned at the girl.

“You’ll be paying for that.” He said firmly.

“Of course she will.” Q said with a smile. “Could I also have a pint of milk, a small bag of sugar, and jar of honey.”

The clerk bagged up Q’s groceries then turned scowling at the young woman who was still eating the cereal out of the box.

“Do ya’ want some milk with that?” He asked.

She looked suspiciously at him. Turning away from him slightly as if to prevent him from grabbing the box away from her.

“No,” she said as she handed over her credit card. The clerk sneered at her as he took her card.

“My name is Mairi.” She whispered to Q.

He glanced at her then back at the clerk. A frown on both of their faces. The clerk handed back her card and she took it.

Q turned back to the clerk and asked, “Do you have mothballs?”

“Mothballs? Why would you’d be needed them for?”

“I found three moths in my closet this morning. I so hate getting holes in my clothes.”

The clerk frowned then glance around the small store as if he weren’t sure what he had in it.

“I’ll have to be ordering some in.”

“Thank you. I’ll be back in soon.” Q took his packages and turned to leave.

“Would you like to share a cupper with me?” Q asked.

Hesitantly she shook her head. Together, Q and girl left the store.

“What is your name?” Mairi asked.

“They call me Number Six here.”

It was a short walk back to the bungalow. The door opened and he walked in. He set the sacks of food down on the counter and then picked up his kettle. He filled it with water and clicked it on.

“They called me Number Twenty-four but that is not my name. Mairi Paterson.” She said as she looked around the room. “Is this what your flat in London looked like.”

Q looked up at her inquisitive. “What makes you think I have a flat in London?”

“You seem like you belong there – like you are from there.”

Q pulled down two mugs and set about making the tea with milk and honey. “I did live in London. When they took me, they took this part of my flat.”

“They took it? It’s not a copy?” Mairi asked.

“No, some of those books are from my flat. There are notes in the margins and the couch has the torn fabric from my cats scratching it.”

“Cats?! You have cats? Can I see them?” Mairi put her box of cereal down and glanced around the room.

“I had cats. They’re not here. I don’t know exactly where they are or if they are even . . .” He glanced away and returned to concentrating on the tea.

“I’m sorry.” She said.

“Don’t apologize. It wasn’t you who brought me here.”

“It freaked the shit of me when I woke up and found half my flat gone.” Mairi said as she slid onto one of the stools next to the kitchen counter. “I thought it was a copy of my place but you think they stole our stuff too?”

“The books are mine and the couch. All the furniture in here is probably mine, but nothing in the bedroom is familiar to me. And they left all my computers and devices behind. I don’t even have a mobile.” Q said as poured hot water over the tea bags in the cups.

“So where is here?” Mairi asked again.

“I don’t know. I’ve been here a few days and no one has really told me anything.” Q said.

“Do you know why you are here?” She asked.

Q handed her a mug of tea. “I was kidnapped off the front steps of my building. They’ve asked questions but only general ones. Nothing specific. And they’ve threatened to torture me but haven’t.”

“What would you know that they would want to know?” She asked.

Q looked up at her then smiled and shook his head no. She glanced down at her mug.

“Oh sorry. I shouldn’t ask.” She said.

“No you shouldn’t. And you should know that there are cameras everywhere. And listening devices. You can’t turn off the radios and you can’t lock your doors. They will come and go from your flat whenever they want. There are people here from all over the world. I’ve heard at least six different languages spoken.” Q said.

“They can come in whenever they like?!”

“Yes. Usually it’s just house keeping or someone bring you food. Nothing scary.”

“Will you at least tell me your name? You know mine.” Mairi said.

“I can’t.” Q said.

“Why?”

“Because I can’t. I do not exist back in the real world. And I can’t give them any chance of finding out who I really am.” Q said.

“You don’t trust me.” Mairi said.

“You will learn to trust no one here.” Q said as he took his first sip of tea.

~Q~

Mairi said goodbye and left Q alone. He decided to go for walk because he couldn’t spend all of his time hiding in his partial flat. He saw the same strange marching band wandering around playing the same march he heard before. The same brightly colorful clothed villagers greeted him with the obligatory salute of ‘Be Seeing You.’ It was becoming maddening.

As he walked around he noticed a trolly carrying several of the maids. Each woman had her own little tote with various cleaning supplies. One of the totes was left on the trolly. Covertly, Q came up to the trolly and looked at the various bottles. None were labeled with brand names. His fingers skimmed over the labels in broad black ink until he came to the bottle labeled NH4. He glanced around then when he was certain no one was watching, he took it and slipped it under his jacket.

He returned to the bungalow and hid the bottle in the bathroom.

~Q~

The next morning, Q went out for a walk after his breakfast. He spent hours walking and studying every building and pathway. He was trying to establish a map of the place in his head. It was difficult to do given the strange design of the village. There were no straight roads. Only a few were large enough for the trolleys to use. There were steps leading up and down the hillside that led to other buildings as well as gardens and overlooks. And everywhere he went, he ran into other residents – or prisoners like himself. Most of the people functioned as if everything was perfectly normal. This was more distressing than the fact he had been kidnapped and brought there.

He found a small café with numerous tables in front of it. The menu board showed it served basic fare or sandwiches, coffee, and tea. He sat down and a pleasant looking man came out and asked what he could get for Q.

“Qu’aimeriez-vous?” the asked. When Q didn’t answer him, he asked. “What would you like?”

“Just a cup of coffee.”

“Turkish, Americano, or Cuban.” The waiter asked with a French accent.

Surprised, it took Q several seconds to say, “Americano, with sugar.”

The man nodded and turned to go back into the café. Q picked up a magazine that was left on the table and started to thumb through it. The front cover had a picture of Number Two on it. He smiling broadly, waving at the camera as a large white balloon hovered behind him.

“That is Rover.”

Startled, Q glanced up to see Number Two standing in front of him.

“I’m sorry?” Q said.

“The balloon, his name is Rover.” Number Two said as he sat down.

“You name your balloons here?” Q asked confused by the man’s presence.

“No, but we use him as deterrent. A punishment.”

Q shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “And you are tell me this as a warning or a threat?”

Number Two chortled. “We have the ability to slip him into a person’s dreams. Their nightmares. You could say a subliminal fiend. Faceless, heartless, unrelenting. He will never give up. Never surrender. Forever chase you and if he catches you . . .”

“I’ll be sure to carry a pin with me everywhere I go.” Q said calmly.

The waiter returned with Q’s coffee and a second cup for Number Two. Q frowned when he realized Number Two was expected here.

“Is there a reason you’ve sought me out today?” Q asked.

“Did you enjoy your conversation with Number Eighty-nine? Was it informative?”

“You forget, I’ve read his file before. I’m aware of how bad his hallucinations got before he disappeared. He was presumed dead. You just kidnapped him and have held him here ever since, correct?”

“Yes, yes, quite true. We were asked to look after him.” Number Two said setting his coffee cup back down in its saucer.

“You didn’t interrogate him, did you? Or is his worsening condition because of your continued questioning of him? Something slipped into his food? Or coffee?”

Q set his cup down without taking a sip.

Number Two frowned. “I assure you we would not ruin a perfectly good cup of coffee. When it comes time for us to ask our questions of you, you will be fully aware of it.”

“Somehow that doesn’t seem believable. So why did you introduce me to Rogers?”

“Eighty-nine, Number Six.”

“Eighty-nine. Why was it important for you to let me know he was here?”

Number Two leaned back into his seat.

“To reassure you that there is no escape from the Village. You will only be allowed to leave here if you cooperate. We can keep you here for years, decades if we choose. And if you choose to be uncooperative, it will be an exceptionally long lonely time for you.”

Q leaned back in his chair and tried to present an attitude of composure. He crossed his legs and lightly interlaced his fingers together.

“My secrets are my own. I do not share them.” Q said calmly.

“But they aren’t just your secrets. Well most of them are not just yours. The real reason you decide to resign is still just yours and needs to be ours. Was it because of Project Heracles?”

Q forced himself to remain still. He concentrated on not even allowing micro expressions to show.

“I am unfamiliar with that Project. Was that one of Simon Rogers’ missions? My time at MI6 doesn’t go back that far. In fact, I believe I was still in nappies when he went missing.”

“Yes you were.” Giggled Number Two. “Such a young man you are. So many years left to live. The question is where will you be living them?”

Suddenly, a siren could be heard. Number Two’s expression quickly shifted form the jovial sociopath to a stern dictator. He tapped the face of his watch and a picture came up.

“What’s happened?” Number Two demanded.

“Orange Alert. It is Number Twenty-four. She’s trying to swim away from the village.”

“Send the boats and the helicopter.” Number Two stood. “I apologize, Number Six. I need to address this situation.”

Q stood. “I know Number Twenty-four. She arrived the day before.”

“Yes, she is a fellow Brit. What of it?” Number Two asked.

“Please . . . don’t hurt her. She’s simply scared.”

“She’ll be dead if she is caught in the currants.” Number Two turned and left.

Q rushed behind him. In the distance, Q could see the helicopter taking off from the wide expanse of lawn. There were already several Zodiac motorboats circling around someone in the water. The boats were at least hundred yards out in the water. If that was Mairi swimming out there she had to be a good swimmer.

Both Q and Number Two came down to the seawall as the boats stopped circling and one of the crewmen jumped into the water. Within seconds, he was back beside the small craft with the limp body of the young woman. The men dragged Mairi back onto the boat and within minutes the boat was pausing at the docks.

People dressed in white came running down to the docks with a gurney. They put Mairi’s motionless body on the gurney and quickly wrapped her up in a red blanket. The gurney was rushed up the dock and into a trailer attached to a trolley. The trolley took off with the wailing of a siren.

“Number Six, I must leave you.”

“Please let me come.” Q said.

“Why?” Number Two narrowed his eyes at Q.

“I . . . I know her. I’m concerned.”

Number Two cocked his head slightly to the side. Then he nodded it. “Alright, but if you try to interfere with her treatment, there will be repercussions.”

Q nodded his head in agreement then climbed into a trolley waiting for Number Two.

Chapter Text

Bond followed behind Q and Number Two as they rushed down to the seawall to watch the capture of the girl with the red hair. She had been able to swim out almost a hundred yards from beach before they caught her. Bond knew the currents were strong out there and she must have been a very good swimmer to make it that far. As much as he hated to say it. She was lucky they had caught her. The currents were dangerous and she would more than likely drowned before she reached the far shore several miles away from the Village.

Bond hung back and watched as the girl was brought back into the docks. To his surprise, Q took the girl’s hand as she was brought up on the gurney. Q was forced to let go as the girl was put onto the trolly and taken away. Bond wondered who she was and what was she to Q. He needed to remain secret and watch.

~Q~

Q remembered the hospital from before. He could feel his palms sweat as he entered the building. He remembered the room with the sign ‘Emersion Therapy’ above the door. It was some kind of auditory torture. He wondered how many other rooms were in the building that had mundane names over doors were horrendous things happened within.

He followed Number Two through the halls until they came to a door marked ‘Women’s Ward.’ Number Two waved Q back as he went forward and spoke to an older woman in a white lab coat. The doctor spoke softly but Number Two’s expression hardened as he shoved his hands deep in the pockets of his jacket. He said something softly to the doctor and the woman gave Q a quick glance before nodding her head to Number Two.

Number Two waved Q over and held the door open to the ward.

“She is in the last bed. It was close. She almost drowned. The doctor said she will recover but there is concern this was a suicide attempt.”

Q nodded his head.

“We will need to keep a very close eye on her until we are certain she will not try to harm herself again.”

“Maybe it would be best if I talk to her alone. You might get her more upset if she sees you.” Q said.

Number Two looked at the woman sleeping in the last bed. She was pale and fragile looking. He hesitated but agreed.

“Alright but I expect you to report to me if you believe she will harm herself again. We cannot allow that. It would be . . . detrimental to our work here.”

“Yes, you mustn’t let the inmates take control.” Q said.

Number Two turned and glared at the younger man. “If someone leaves here by suicide, how many others do you think will see it as a way out too?”

Q paled. It was not in him to commit suicide but he had learned through experience that in desperate situations, people are willing to do the unthinkable, whatever that might be, at that moment.

“I will let her doctors know if she makes any indications of self-harm.” Q said.

Number Two continued to glare at Q but knew that was the best guarantee he would get out of the man. He turned and quickly left the ward, leaving Q alone with Mairi.

~Q~

Q had taken a seat beside her bed and watched her as she slept. She was an attractive young woman with smooth skin and a light sprinkling of freckles. Her dark red hair was almost dry when she sighed and shifted in the bed. Her eyes fluttered slightly as she turned away from the window and the sunlight.

“Hello again.” Q said.

Mairi’s eyes blinked then flew open – frightened. She looked warily around herself. She remained still in the bed as her bloodshot eyes settled on Q.

“What happened?”

“You went for a swim. You almost drowned.” Q said.

Mairi’s eyes swept around her again as she frowned. “Why are you here?”

“I asked to be here. I was worried about you.”

“Why?”

“You seemed like you needed someone to be worried about you. Why did you do it?” Q asked.

“Do what?”

“Were you trying to escape or were you trying to kill yourself. Both lines of reasoning are flawed by the way. You couldn’t swim far enough to escape and suicide is simply stupid.” Q said.

“I wasn’t trying to kill myself.” Mairi said as she sat up. She groaned and rubbed her sore ribs. When she noticed Q watching her, she pulled the blanket up to her chin.

“Then you thought you could swim to where? As far as I know we are on an island.” Q said.

“It’s not an island.”

Q glanced around to make sure no one was listening to them. Then he leaned forward and dropped his voice.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“So if it’s not an island then it’s attached to the mainland. But that still doesn’t tell us which country it is.”

“No, but I thought if I could just get out of here then I could find someone who could help. Someone who could tell me where I was. Then I could get back home.” Mairi said.

“You miss home enough to risk drowning?” Q asked.

“I was taken to a room marked ‘Education.’ They told me that they didn’t need to question me. They already knew everything I was able to give them. I asked if I could leave then and they told me I was to remain here in the village forever. I was expected to work as one of staff members.” Mairi said.

Mairi’s eyes glassed over with tears. “I’m engaged. Arthur is my fiancé. I miss him. I want to get back to him. He will be so upset. He . . . I just need to get back to him.”

Q leaned back in his chair. He wondered how hard would he be fighting to get home if he had someone there to go back to? To his sorrow he realized he didn’t have anyone other than his cats. He hadn’t had anyone since the day he pushed the button that sent the missiles to the island.

Q held out his hand – palm up. Mairi glanced at it suspiciously, then slowly untangled her own hand form the blanket and took his.

“Let’s make a promise to each other.” Q said. “We will leave here together and as quickly as we can.”

“You mean it?” she asked.

“I can’t stay here. So far I’ve not given anything away. Not even my real name but sooner or later they will start to put pressure on me. I can’t let that happen. I can’t let my secrets out. We will work together and get out of here – together.” Q said as he gave her hand a small squeeze.

Mairi blinked away her tears.

“And soon?”

“As soon as we can. I’m already working on a plan.”

“Thank you, Six.” Then she frowned. “I hate that.”

“What?” Q asked.

“Being called a number. Calling someone a number. It’s – I don’t know – creepy. Makes it sound like we are machines or robots.”

“It’s part of the dehumanization process of brainwashing.” Q hummed. “It works in prisons and in concentration camps. It’s worked here apparently.”

“I hate it.”

“Then don’t do it.” Q said.

“Then I need to know your name.” Mairi asked.

Q smiled. “Make one up.”

~Q~

Mairi was discharged from the hospital that afternoon. Q helped her get back to her bungalow. It was small house with a garden of hydrangeas in front of it. The bungalow was close to Q’s and he told her that come by when she was feeling better. The next morning Q’s front door opened and Mairi came in carrying another box of cereal. Again she was greedily eating handfuls.  

“Morning Paddy.” She said brightly. “How about another cuppa?”

“Paddy?” Q asked.

“Yea, I hope you don’t mind but I can’t call you six. You sound like that bear on the kids’ show, Paddington. So I’ll call you Paddy.”

Q smiled. “I guess that’s better than some of the things my coworkers have called me.”

“Like?”

“Boffin, Mr. Roboto, twink.” Q remembered the comments he had heard over the comms with the agents before they realized how good of a Quartermaster he would be.

“Wow, that’s rather gallus.” Mairi said. “What did you do?”

“I can’t actually tell you, but I promise the names were never repeated by the same people twice.” Q winked at the young woman as he fixed her tea.

She smiled back.

After a shared cup of tea, the two went for a walk through the village. Q hesitated occasionally and looked behind them.

“What’s wrong?” Mairi asked.

“I don’t know for sure. It’s just . . .” Q turned and looked again but didn’t see anyone watching them specifically. The continued to walk down through the Village.

“It’s like they are acting,” she said as she watched the other inhabitants.

“Acting or drugged.” Q said.

They came to the small café with the tables outside. They sat down and read the menu board.

“Do you think they’re prisoners too?” Mairi asked glancing around.

“Some are, yes. I met one I know is a prisoner like us.”

“Is he British too?”

“Yes.”

“Are there many British here?” she asked.

“Yes, as many if not more than the Americans. Maybe some Canadians. I think there are some Germans too. Someone said something about a lot of Pols coming through.”

“They are all from NATO countries.” Mairi said as she glanced around.

Q blinked his eyes. “Well, yes. I didn’t make the connection. But there might have been some Russians too.”

“Do you think the Russians might be dissidents sent here by the Russian government?”

“I don’t know. I don’t speak Russian and can’t really ask them,” Q said. “What are you thinking? Do you think that this is some kind of Russian gulag?”

She leaned close to him. “I read a classified report about a place where the Russians were experimenting with brainwashing and reprograming. It was during the Cold War. The report went on to say that MI6 and the CIA were considering opening up their own camps. What if this is one of those camps? What if this was the Russian one?”

Q studied her face for a moment. “It wouldn’t be the Russians. How would they have gotten my personal belongings here. Someone in London would have noticed my flat being packed up by Russians. My employer would have come asking questions.”

“Then this could be the British Camp.” Mairi said.

“Or American. Many of the staff are Americans.” Q said. He leaned back and waved the waiter over. “Two turkey sandwiches with cheese and chutney. And two lemonades.”

The man nodded and went back into the café. Q glanced around them. No one was paying them much attention.

“We need to keep up appearances.” He whispered to her.

Q leaned back over the table to take Mairi’s hand. He lifted it as if he were going to kiss it but instead held it where his mouth was mostly hidden by it.

“Two miles outside of the village is a guard post. There is a tall hedge and fence surrounding the area. There are also trigger alarms in the woods near the guard post. Prisoners are brought in by helicopter but everything else – food, clothing, supplies, they are driven in. If we could somehow get through the fence . . .”

“Does the fence extend out into the water?” Mairi asked. She leaned her head onto her free hand and spoke without moving her lips.

“I don’t know. I haven’t seen any indication it does.” Q said.

“We could go along the edge of the water until we reached the fence then swim out and around it. Then get back to the land and work our way back to somewhere away from here.”

“Haven’t you had enough of swimming? You almost drowned yesterday.”

 “It’s at most fifty or sixty feet of swimming. Can you swim that far in sea?”

“If the tide is not too strong, yes.” Q said.

“Then let’s do it.” Mairi smiled. “Tonight.”

Q kept smiling as he softly kissed her hand. “No. We wait until the quarter moon.”

“Why?”

“The tides will be at their weakest.” Q said.

Mairi nodded her head in understanding. The next quarter moon will be in a few nights. The waiter returned with their sandwiches and crisps.

Q let go of Mairi’s hand and glanced around the sidewalk café. Still no one was watching them.

~Q~

Bond was sitting on the park bench across the road from the small café. There was a hedge between park and small road blocking anyone from the café’ from seeing him. If he sat up tall he could easily see Q and the girl but he was mostly hidden from them. He watched as Q leaned forward and take the girl’s hand. He brought it up to mouth and hesitated before he kiss it. Bond thought that was very strange. It was obvious that that Q preferred men over women but also the strong rules against fraternization.

Bond watched the two people interact. Something seemed off. The girl wasn’t smiling. Her face seemed frozen – almost impassive. The two were faking it.

Bond leaned back on the bench and wondered what his Quartermaster was up to.

Chapter Text

The next day Bond waited until he saw Q and the girl leave the bungalow. The door opened for him without any hesitation. He knew that whoever was responsible for surveillance on Q would be following Q through the village and not watching the CCTV of his flat. Bond could only hope that the footage was not routinely reviewed.

As soon as he walked into Q’s house it hit him. It was London. It was home. As the late morning sun came in through the windows, he could see how much it really looked like Q’s flat. He could feel the younger man’s presence in the room. The same galley kitchen. The same eclectic collection of books. The same couch.

As if experiencing some kind of déjà vu, Bond stepped slowly forward. The kitchen to his left where he had made breakfast for the two of them every morning while he stayed with Q. The narrow counter where Q sat, half asleep while Bond made him tea. Bond always watched covertly as the scent of the tea slow woke the younger man up. Brought the sleepy smile to Q’s face and after the first few sips, Q’s eyes opening up like a sunrise. The bright hazel eyes so warm and inviting.

Bond went and sat on the couch and looked around the room. It had only been five days but it seemed like years he had lived with Q in these rooms. The two of them were like an old married couple moving together in a fluid dance of familiarity. Remembering hurt.

It hurt so bad to know the one person he actually could be himself with was the person he had spent the least amount of time living with.

He glanced over and saw the folded blanket and pillow sitting on the couch. Just like he had left it there over a year ago. ‘But it couldn’t be.’ He thought to himself. This wasn’t fourteen months ago. This wasn’t London. This was the Village. It wasn’t Q’s flat but some kind of mockup. A trick. The question was who was being deceived.

Was Q a prisoner or Q was one of the people brought here to trick him.

The idea of Q being questioned by Number Two horrified Bond. He knew how vicious Number Two could be. The insidious methods the man used. Nothing simple like pain but other methods that left the person hollow. Broken and empty. Bond didn’t want anything like that to happen to Q. If Q were a prisoner –  and questioned – Q would be traumatized.

Q lingering over a lunch with that woman didn’t give the impression that Q was in fear. It made him look more like he was working with Number Two. That he was comfortable with the Village and the strange inhabitants.

But Q as a threat was even harder for Bond to believe. He trusted Q. Bond had placed his life in Q’s hands dozens of times. And even when Q argued with him – challenged him – he always was there to help Bond. Even at the threat of his own life. Bond had been betrayed before by people he cared for. By people who claimed they cared for him. There was a list. Vesper Lynd was at the top of the list. But Bond knew as much as she had betrayed him, she never really trusted him. Q was the opposite. He trusted Bond even when there was no reason for the young man too. And he risked everything for Bond just because Bond asked him to.

So what was the answer, was Q a friend or a foe? Bond needed to know.

He sat in the room that looked so familiar to him. A flat that was so very much like its owner. Comfortable and eclectic. The numerous bookshelves with everything from the poetry of John Keats to the manuals on gunsmithing and manufacturing. There were military history books and a complete collection of Sherlock Holmes. Q’s kitchen with his kettle placed strategically in the most ergonomic ideal place for tea making. Creating the fewest amount of steps one needed to make to get from the refrigerator with the milk to the shelf where he kept his tea to the sink and the water. Then Q’s couch which was wide and comfortable without being overly soft, causing a sore back for anyone who had to sleep on it.

Bond softly stroked his hand over the pillow that Q’s head had laid on only hours earlier. An indulgence.

He couldn’t waste time with indulgences. Bond needed to search Q’s flat for evidence. Bond’s hand ran over the torn fabric of the couch. The spot Q had said his cats had torn by sharpening their claws. Instinctively, Bond glanced around but there were no signs of cats. He remembered Number Two telling him no pets were allowed in the Village. But Q loved his cats. He would never willing be separated from them. Another reason to doubt Q was there as an enemy.

Bond wandered into Q’s bedroom. It was not Q’s real bedroom. This was some abbreviated version. Instead of the queen-size bed, there was a narrow single. Neatly made up and pristine.

Bond went into the bathroom. Damp towels were still hanging from the towel rack. The maids had not been in yet to clean up. Bond glanced back at the bed.

‘Q was sleeping on the couch instead of the bed. Why?’ Bond wondered. Either Q didn’t like the bed or he didn’t want to sleep there because . . .

Bond didn’t want to waste time thinking about that. He moved into the bathroom. Q’s aftershave was sitting on the counter. He took a brief whiff of it. Instantly it reminded him of Q. A slight citrus and woodsy.

A memory came flooding back to him. Last morning he was in Q’s flat, after Blofeld had died, Bond was sitting on the couch reading the autopsy report of his stepbrother when Q came out of the bathroom. He wore a towel low over his hips and was using another towel to dry his hair. He was bare chested and barefooted.

Q’s long lean body was exposed for Bond to see. Ivory skin over sleek lean muscles. Like a greyhound. Strong yet streamlined. Q must have been a runner. A long-distance runner.

Q picked up the already prepared cup of tea sitting on the counter waiting for him. Bond’s eyes were unable to move from the other man’s body. He had been there for five days and this was the first time he had seen Q nearly naked. And it wasn’t enough. He wanted more.

He could have hated himself. He held his stepbrother’s autopsy report in his hand. The man was dead because of Bond. The woman whom he had walked away from MI6 for was waiting for him. And all he wanted was for that blasted towel around Q’s waist to slip and fall to the ground.

Bond set the aftershave down and walked out of the bathroom. He understood. Q did not want to be here either. He was a prisoner too. He went back out into the living room and went to Q’s desk. He rifled through the drawers until he found what he was looking for. He quickly scribbled a note and glanced around for a safe place to put it. Somewhere only Q would notice it.

He smiled and went to the kitchen. After the note was secreted he left the flat. He wasn’t sure exactly where Q would be but he knew if he went to the tower he would have an unobstructed view of most of the village. He could pick out that mop of ravine hair anywhere.

~Q~

Q and Mairi walked back through the Village to her flat. It was a few streets over from Q’s. The hydrangeas were still in bloom and her door was in a soft lavender shade. The cottage was painted yellow and seemed very pleasant.

“Come by my place tonight.” Q said. Mairi looked suspiciously at him. He smiled. “Don’t worry. You are beautiful but definitely not my type.”

“And what is your type?” She asked.

Q paused thinking instantly of Bond. “Not here.”

“Tell me, Paddy. What type of man gets you going? Dark hair and dark eyes?”

“No,” he said suddenly. Then a slight blush came to Q’s cheeks. “Actually, blonde . . . with flecks of grey running through it. Slight scruff of morning stubble and eyes so crystal blue they could cut glass.”

Mairi smiled back at him. “He sounds wonderful. Is he waiting for back in London?”

Q frowned. “No, he’s dead.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. He died over a year ago. I guess I’m still hung up on him.”

“He was an incredibly lucky man when he was alive. Incredibly lucky to have you.” Mairi said.

Q couldn’t admit that he really didn’t have him. And the few days they had lived together were not enough to even call a relationship.

Q shook his head to push the memories back away. “Come by. I have an idea where we can talk and not be overheard.”

“How?” she asked.

“Do you like dancing?” Q asked.

Mairi wrinkled her face. “Yes, but . . .”

“Just trust me on this and come by. I need to work some things out and I will be able to tell you exactly when we should make our escape.”

“Okay, tonight. Eight?”

“Perfect.” Q said.

He turned and walked off as Mairi stood on her steps watching him go.

~Q~

Q returned to his flat and went to his kitchen. He filled his kettle with water and clicked it on. The he went to retrieve his tea from the cabinet. He opened the box and saw the white note inside.

Remove the cameras. I’ll be by tonight.

Chapter Text

Q was shaking slightly. There was a rush of blood through his ears as he looked down at the note.  He recognized the neat script. It was just like . . . but that couldn’t be true. Q thought.

But could it. Bond was alive. Q hadn’t killed him.

He gave a pathetic laugh as the feeling of déjà vu spread through him as he read the note again, hidden in his box of PG Tips. Bond was going to ruin another date of his.

The man had impeccable timing. Q felt giddy looking at the note. Bond was here. He was coming to help. He was going to rescue Q. Suddenly, Q felt like one of those idiot women that Bond seemed to be constantly having to rescue.

“Oh, James . . .” Q could hear the woman’s gasp over the com-links. He had rolled his eyes every time he heard the breathy plea.

“Oh, James . . .” Q muttered softly imagining himself as one of those women. He smiled.

He didn’t care. Bond was alive.  Who would care about a date with that knowledge.

Although it really wasn’t a date between Q and Mairi. They were just meeting to plan their escape. Act like it was a romantic evening when in actuality they would discussing the best time and day for them to try and swim around the fences and reach the other side.

Q glanced down at the note again and frowned. He wondered when Bond had left the note. He thought it must have happened when Q and Mairi were out walking around the village and having lunch. Q wondered if he should tell Mairi about Bond. He wondered if Bond was a prisoner like them. Or had he learned Q was here and came to rescue him. If he was a prisoner, how long had he been there? There were so many questions running around in Q’s head, he stood there frozen to the spot even after the water had finished boiling and the  kettle clicked off.

Q glanced at the kettle and realized he didn’t have time for tea. He needed to get to work. He looked up at the cameras again and counted off in his head how many there were and their locations. He also needed to deal with the listening devices. He decided against removing them again. It would take too much time.

He dashed out of door and ran down the street to the small grocery store. He quickly found what he was looking for. He returned with four tins of black shoe polish. It took him about an hour to smear the polish over the lens of all the cameras. Including the two new ones he found in the kitchen and bedroom. Next he wrapped masking tape and cotton wool over the sensitive receivers of the listening devices preventing them from receiving any sounds clearly. Anything that did get through the tape and wadding would be muffled and unintelligible. Far better and less messy that the bubble gum he originally thought of using.

It took him about three hours to completely deal with the various surveillance equipment in his flat. The sun had set when he heard a tapping at his window. Q nearly panicked when he saw Bond standing there. He quickly opened the window. Bond jumped up and sat on the widow ledge. A smug smile on his face.

“Good evening, Q.”

Q’s skin began to tingle with disbelief. Bond was here. He was really here.

“Thank God, you’re not dead.” Q whispered. Glad he didn’t have to try and speak normally. He didn’t think he could.

“You couldn’t believe two little missiles could kill me, do you?” There was teasing to the comment that brought back the years of banter between the two of them. Less than foreplay but more than just joking.

“Get your arse in here and tell me what you are doing here.” Q ordered as he quickly slipped into his old persona of the ‘Quartermaster’.

Bond climbed in the window. But before he could say anything there was a knock on the door.

“Who is that?” Bond asked. His body tensed – ready to attack or defend. Whichever was necessary.

“I have a date. I’ll let her.”

“Her? You’ve changed.”

“Oh, shut up, 007.”

Bond couldn’t believe how good it felt to hear Q said those words. To use his code name. It sparked something inside him that had been dormant for too long.

“Just wait here, I won’t be a second.” Q said but he didn’t move. He kept staring at Bond even though he said he needed to go. He just stared then suddenly reached out and grabbed the man. Pulled him into a tight hug. Surprised but not offended, it took Bond a moment to catch up to Q.

“It will be okay. I’ll be here when you get back. I promise.” Bond whispered into Q’s hair.

There was another knock.

Q hesitated then stepped back.

“I can’t tell you how good it feels to see you again. How much I’ve missed you.”

Bond smiled and nodded his head. “Go on . . . or do you want me to deal with this date like I did the last one.”

Q cocked his head to the side and narrowed his eyes. “My date refused to speak to me again after that night. I have no idea what you said to him but you are not to speak to Mairi that way.”

Bond smiled. “Of course not.”

Q wasn’t sure how he felt about that comment. If it was the truth or a lie. Q went quickly and opened the door.

“That was strange.” Mairi said. “It didn’t open on its own this time.”

“I put boot black over the sensor eye. It didn’t see you arrive.” Q said. “Come in, there is someone I want you to meet.”

Q closed the door and gently placed his hand on Mairi’s arm, leading her into the living room where Bond was waiting. For a moment she looked confused.

“Who are you?” she asked. She noticed he was not wearing one of the penny-farthing buttons with a number on it.

“Bond, James Bond.” His voice was deep and smooth as Laphroaig Scotch. It sent a shiver up Q’s spine.

Mairi glanced at Q for a moment then looked suspiciously at Bond.

“What are you doing here?” she asked.

“Looking for a way to escape.” He said.

“Paddy, I don’t understand. Is he someone we can trust? I mean . . . who is he?”

Q patted her shoulder. “Don’t worry. He is someone I knew from home. We worked together. He is . . . my friend.”

She looked back at Bond. “If you’re his friend, then you know his real name. what is it?”

Bond glanced at Q then back to Mairi. “It is complicated. I don’t know his name but I know who he is. And he knows  who I am. He’s saved my life several times and we trust each other implicitly.”  

Q smiled at that. He reached out and squeezed Bond’s shoulder. Then looked back to Mairi.

“It will be good. Bond is better at getting out of situations like this than anyone I know. He’s even gotten out of being dead.”

“Being dead?” Mairi asked.

Bond smirked. “Yes, at least twice.”

“Three times,” Q corrected him.

Mairi hesitated then nodded her head. “Okay . . . for now but if I think you are setting me up . . .”

“Don’t worry. He’ll get us out here safely. I promise.” Q said.

He took Mairi’s hand and led her to the couch. They sat down and Q unfolded the map he had gotten at the store. Inside the map was another hand drawn map. It showed what was beyond the village map. Bond pulled over a chair and sat in front of the two. He studied Q’s map noting somethings Q had wrong. Adding to what Q had drawn.

“What was your plan?” Bond asked quietly.

Mairi look suspiciously at him again but Q told him. “We simply walk down the beach until we reach the fence then swim around it to get to the other side. From there we walk until we find someone who speaks English and get the hell back to London.”

“Simple always works best.” Bond said. He looked carefully at Q’s map. “The coastline about hundred yards from the boat dock becomes very rocky. It will take time to get over it before you could reach the fence. The village is built on an estuary. The foreshore stretches for some distance. You won’t need to swim it but you do need to go when the tide is out and there is no one to see you on the beach. There are guards in the woods.”

“I’ve seen them.” Q said. “We’ll need something to distract them. Maybe have them busy on the opposite side of the village when we make our break.”

“Okay, but what? How are you going to distract them. And how certain are you that once you get out of here we can make it back to England.”

“I think there is a chance we are already in England.” Q said somberly.

“What?” Mairi seemed surprised.

“I’ve been thinking. Some of these books are from my flat. The couch is the same one from there. If they had time to pack up my flat and move it to wherever we are they did it without any noticing or informing MI6. It had to happen quickly. They didn’t have time to move too far with everything.”

“So you think we are in England?” Bond asked.

“England or somewhere close to it.” Q said.

Bond nodded in agreement while Mairi looked stunned.

“Curfew in five minutes.” The radio announced.

Q looked over at the radio and frowned. “They’ll be shutting off the power soon.”

“Don’t worry.” Bond said.

“But Mairi needs to get back to her cottage.”

She stood up and moved towards the door. “Don’t worry. I’ll be fine walking back.”

“I should go with you.” Q said.

“No it’s fine.”

Q got up and walked out of the bungalow with her.

“You should go back in, Paddy. He’s the one, isn’t he.” She whispered.

“I don’t know what you mean.” Q said.

“You said blond hair going grey and crystal blue eyes that could cut glass.” She nodded towards Bond.

Q actually blushed. It made Mairi smile for the first time that night.

“Yeah, he’s the one. But he doesn’t know it and probably wouldn’t care.” Q whispered back.

“He’s here isn’t he. Of course he cares.” She leaned in and kissed Q’s cheek. “But remember what you told me Paddy. Don’t trust anyone here. If he’s been here for all those months, they could have turned him.”

Q glanced up at Mairi and saw the sincerity in her eyes. “I trust Bond with my life.”

“You might trust him with your life, but I don’t trust him with mine.”

She turned and disappeared into the darkness. The music on the radio stopped, and the announcer was back.

“Curfew in two minutes.”

Q closed the door to his bungalow and turned to see Bond studying the map. He held a pen and was changing and adding things to Q’s drawings.

“There’s a guard post here. And there are alarm triggers near every post.”

Q went over and sat down on the couch opposite of Bond. “How long have you been here?”

Bond looked up then frowned. “About a year.”

Q couldn’t imagine it. “An entire year?”

“Yes. They took me about two months after the island. I was in Tokyo.”

“You were alive and you didn’t let me – MI6 know?”

“No. There were things I need to figure out. I needed to decide what to do about Madeline and Mathilda and . . . other things.” Bond said as he kept staring at Q.

“Were you ever going to let us know you were alive?” Q asked. His stomach twisted. He couldn’t  believe Bond wanted to remain hidden from him. That Bond was all right with leaving Q to feel guilty of killing him.

“I don’t know.” He hesitated. “Maybe I would come back, but not to MI6. That’s the best answer I can give you.”

Q blinked his eyes several times. “Oh.”

Bond looked back at the map. “They bring supplies in by truck. They must have some kind of warehouse or depot for storage. If we could reach the depot, then we could get a vehicle to escape in once we are outside of the fence.”

Q didn’t care about the escape plan anymore but he glanced down at the map, while his mind dealt with the fact that Bond hadn’t let anyone know he was alive. His eyes moved from the map to Bond’s left hand. It was holding the map still as his right drew out the locations of various guard posts. The back of the hand was mottled and scarred. Deep dark red tendrils stretched out from the knuckles and disappeared under the edge of his jumper’s sleeve. The ring finger on the left hand was stilted and frozen while the pinkie finger was missing.

Bond realized Q was staring at the marred hand and went to pull it back into his lap. Hiding it from his Quartermaster. Q reached out and grabbed it gently, preventing Bond from concealing it.

“Don’t” Q whispered. “Tell me what happened on the island.”

Bond looked at him then shrugged. “It doesn’t matter.”

Q examined the hand more closely. There were scars from skin graphs and surgical scars.

“Yes it does. Tell me.”

Bond took in a deep breath. “I was ready. Willing to die.”

Q felt a stab in his chest from the simple statement.

“It was a beautiful day. The kind of day for which you would hope. I stood out there on the deck and watched as the missiles approached then . . . I don’t know . . . I guess my body took over. I ran for cover. I made it into the building before the first strike. It threw me across the room and into the stairwell. The second missile brought the building down on top of me. I was trapped.”

Q’s fingers gently smoothed over the scared skin. They travelled slowly up Bond’s wrist to the hem of his sleeve.

“The Japanese Navy sent in a containment crew. They didn’t expect to find anyone alive. They were surprised when they found me. More dead than alive.” Bond felt uncomfortable letting Q hold his injured hand but there was something cathartic about letting the younger man do so.

Q’s imagination took hold of him. He saw Bond laying in the rubble under the concrete and the steel. He could see the man struggling to live as the dust choked in his lungs and the fires burned around him.

Q’s hand moved slowly up the sleeve of Bond’s jumped then over his chest to rest upon his heart.

“Show me.”

Two simple words that held a world of meanings.

“Q.” Bond breathed.

“Show me, James.”

Slowly, Bond stood and pulled the jumper off. Q looked up at the man standing above him. Bond’s muscular body still in beautiful form. His skin still tanned but now pocked marked with scars. Up his left arm and across his back. Signs of healed tissue and skin grafts. Months of pain and rehabilitation. It made Q want to cry.

He slowly moved closer to Bond. His fingertips lightly tracing the red tissue up Bond’s arm and across his shoulder.

“Not very pleasant, is it.” Bond whispered.

“Please, James.”

The sound of his name on Q’s lips sent a surge through Bond’s body. An eclectic charge. As if had been sleeping and something woke him.

Q’s fingertips moved slowly, outlining every injury. When he came to the edge of the scar over Bond’s shoulder, he slowly moved his hand to Bond’s sternum – pressing his palm over the man’s heart. The strong rhythmic beat reassured Q.

“I’m sorry, James.”

Bond reached up with his injured hand and cupped Q’s face. His thumb gently wiped away the tear that was slowly tracking down the younger man’s face.

“Please forgive me.” Q whispered as he leaned into Bond’s hand.

“There is nothing to forgive, Q.”

His thumb smoothed over Q’s cheek again. They stood silent and stared at each other. Things needed to be said, but neither was willing to break the spell.

The lights went out as curfew in the village started. The two men were suddenly in darkness save the moonlight coming in through the window.

“I should go.” Bond said as he pulled back.

“Don’t – please.” He reached out and softly grabbed Bond’s arm. “Just stay. Tell me about what happened afterwards.” Q pressed.

“It doesn’t matter anymore. It’s over. All that is important now is the two of us getting out of here together.”

Chapter Text

Bond spent several more hours with Q that night. After they had talked over the plan and contingencies, Q started to ask questions about what Bond did after he retired and left with Madeline Swann. Bond didn’t say much other than they had parted ways in Italy a few months after he left. He then talked about his home in Jamacia and how much he wanted to return to it. It almost made Q sad to think if they did get out of the Village and back to England, he would lose Bond again. But more than anything, Q just wanted to listen to Bond talk. He fell asleep listing to the man’s deep rumbling voice.

It was passed four in the morning when Bond slipped out of Q’s window and back into the night. The Village was quiet and dark. There were no streetlights. Bond liked moving around the Village at night. His front door registered his comings and goings but he learned early on that he could escape through his bathroom window. He could disappear into the strange town, moving covertly in the shadows as the roaming guards patrolled the street. He did it often, convincing himself he was just maintaining his skills of concealment. But the truth of the matter was he liked the darkness. The hours of complete freedom within this strange prison. It was the time when he could think.

He moved silently down the narrow alley that led away from Q’s bungalow to the main road. He crossed the road quickly and duck into a line of trees leading into a park. If he needed to he could hide quickly behind one of the elms when the guards came walking up the road. His rubber soled trainers barely made any sound on the cobblestones as he jogged across the road. The evening sea breeze was picking up and he was glad he wore his wool jumper.

When he reached the trees he was under their branches and out of the moonlight. He moved slowly listening for any approaching footsteps.

Bond’s mind slipped back to Q and seeing him again. Bond didn’t want to dwell too much on the reasons he felt good to be with the younger man. But it did. He wanted to believe it was because it was the first moment  of normality he had felt since he had woken up here. Q, in his London flat with his tea and his sarcasm.

He didn’t feel alone anymore. He wasn’t on his own fighting this anonymous villain. He had his Quartermaster. He had Q on his side. Now he could escape.

He walked through the park and down towards the sea wall. It was at least another hour before dawn and he wanted to check out the beach. The tide was coming in and he needed to be quick. He had remembered a stone jetty that reached out into the water about twenty yards instead of the fence that surround the rest of the village. Bond jogged along the beach until he noticed a torchlight coming out of the trees. He ducked down but he was still quite visible on the open sand. Then the light disappeared.

Slowly, Bond crab-walked back towards the tree line just beyond the dunes. He laid down on the sand and waited. The torchlight returned and swept over the sand ahead of him.

“I know I heard something.” The male voice traveled along with the sea breeze.

“You’re imagining things. These nutters are locked up in their little cages for the night.” A second male voice was heard.

Bond ducked down lower and watched the light move again over the sand. He followed it into the woods. Ten yards from the edge of the beach he saw the small hut. Another guard house. It hadn’t been there the last time he had come this way. It had been built in the last few weeks.

Bond moved deeper into the forest at the edge of the water. He would circle back around towards the village. The plan to sneak out of the village this route was not going to work.

~Q~

Q woke as the front door opened. Number Two came storming in with a team of maids in his wake. Q was laying on the couch with a blanket spread out over him. He didn’t remember falling asleep there. The last thing he recalled was Bond talking to him about living in Jamaica.

Q’s eyes quickly swept through the room looking for the aforementioned agent. Bond was gone.

“I have spoken to you about tampering with the cameras in your flat, Number Six.” Number Two spoke sharply. His face flushed and his knuckles turned white over the handle of his walking stick. “You refuse to listen. There will be consequences.”

Q slipped on his eyeglasses and scanned the room again as he spoke. “I don’t like being spied on.”

“Interesting comment from someone who was very proficient at spying on others.”

Q frowned as he watched the maids start to clean the boot black off the various camera lens.

“You’ll need a mild acid to get that wax off.” Q said as he watched the woman try and wipe the polish off.

“Wanton destruction of property is not permitted.” Number Two snapped.

“It wasn’t wanton or destroyed. Just made inoperable for a brief period of time.” Q said with a yawn. “White vinegar should work.”

He yanked the blanket off his legs and stood up. Number Two leaned in closer.

“Who was here with you last night?”

Q tried to remain unreadable. “That would be telling. I am a gentleman. No kiss and tell.”

“There is a curfew.” 

“Was there any indication that I stepped out after curfew?” Q asked as he stepped over to kitchen counter and clicked on his kettle.

He glanced down at the various bottles of cleaning solutions. He noticed they were labeled with chemical formulas instead of names.

“You had guests here last night.”

Q heard the plural term used. He turned away from Number Two, reaching for a mug before he spoke.

“Guest. Singular.” Q tried to lie convincingly. “And you know exactly who she was because your bloody cameras followed her here and followed her home after she left. Before curfew.”

“It would be well advised of you to stop these little games of yours, Number Six.”

“I do not know what you are talking about.”

Number Two leaned back and smiled like a shark. “Cooperation will aid in returning you to your previous life.”

Q reached for his box of PG Tips. His hand shook while Number Two threatened him. Q quickly set the box down and tried to hide his fear.

“I will not give you my secrets. I will not tell you anything.”

Number Two smiled. “Just answer a simple question.”

Q glared at him.

“What is your name?”

“You know that is not a simple question.” 

“Then tell me about Project Heracles.”

Q’s movements faltered. He almost dropped the kettle as he poured the boiling water. He cleared his throat before saying. “Never heard of it.”

Number Two smiled. “By hook or by crook, Number Six. Be seeing you.”

He gave the salute as he left. Q fought to not show any fear or anxiety. The bastard knew how to get to Q too quickly. He wished Bond was there with him. Bond would make him feel safe. He would protect Q from the monster.

He turned back to the cleaning supplies the maid had left on the counter. The woman was up on a step stool trying to wipe the boot black off the lens. Q looked at the bottles until he saw what he wanted. He glanced quickly at the woman, then grabbed the bottle and slipped it into the cabinet before he started his tea.

~Q~

Out in Number Two’s trolly, his assistant sat. Number Two negotiated his bulk into the small cart before he tapped the driver with the handle of his cane. The trolly quickly took off.

“You were warned about Number Seven and Number Six. That Seven would become even more difficult to manage if he learned of Six’s existence.” His assistant said condescendingly.

Number Two snorted ungraciously through his nose. “It doesn’t matter.”

“They are working together now.”

“So what. My plan is still on track. The addition of Number Seven to the game means nothing.”

The assistant turned his head and stared at his superior. “Is that what Number One has said?”

Number Two pulled the corners of his mouth down in an exaggerated pout.

“You haven’t told him, have you?” accused the assistant.

“I said it doesn’t matter. We will speed up our plans and get the information from Number Six before the deadline.”

The assistant looked away. The scowl firmly locked on his face. “Everything is ready.”

“Very good. We start immediately.”

Chapter Text

“No, Bond – stop!”

Q woke up slowly. His mouth had a metallic taste to it and his limbs felt solidified. Muscles ached through out his body and his head was pounding. He groaned softly as he shifted on the bed. The noise from the traffic outside the window was annoying.

He snapped his eyes opened and glanced around.

The noise of the traffic outside. Car engines and horns.

He slapped the table next to the bed and found his eyeglasses. As he fumbled to put them on his senses tried to take in as much information as possible.

It was a room he had never been in before. It looked like a hospital room. Plain beige walls and built-in cabinets with a sink. Elevated bed with side-rails. An IV attached to his arm. Scratchy sheets and red wool blanket. The smell of disinfectant and bleach.

Outside the window he heard the melodious peel of a large bell. His heart leapt in his chest. He knew that sound. He heard it every day living in London. Big Ben. He looked down at his watch. The ancient clock tower was tolling out the hour of nine am. The same as on his watch. Q smiled. He was back in London. He was home.

He grabbed the edge of his covers and tossed them off. He was dressed in a flimsy hospital gown. His bare knees were visible below the hem of the gown. He swung his legs off and set his feet on the cool tile floor as the door opened.

“Paddy, get back in bed!” Mairi shouted.

“What happened? How’d we get here!?” Q asked as the young woman helped him back onto the bed.

“Our plan – remember – it worked.” She said as she covered his legs back up.

Q struggled. He couldn’t remember. His head hurt too much.

“No, where is Bond?” Q asked.

Mairi looked up, her face becoming very pale. “He . . . he ah . . . didn’t come with us.”

“What? No. Where is he?”

“I think he is still in the village.”

“NO!” Q growled. “He was to leave with us!”

“Let me get the doctor, Paddy.”

Mairi dashed out of the room before Q could ask another question. His mind racing to possible senecios as to what had happened to Bond.

He stayed behind to capture Number Two.

To kill Number Two.

He stayed behind to blow the place up.

He was captured.

He was killed.

Q couldn’t dwell on the last possibility. He couldn’t handle losing Bond again so quickly after regaining him. He closed his eyes and focused on the sound of the traffic outside. He was in London. He was home. That was what mattered. Now he could find out where the Village was and make sure everyone was freed from it and it was destroyed.

The door opened and a pleasant looking older man came in.

“Good morning, Mister Paddington. I’m your attending, Arthur Abbeydale.”

Q blinked his eyes. ‘Who?’ He glanced over at Mairi who had a twisted expression on her face.

“Good morning, Doctor Abbeydale.” Q said.

“How are we feeling this morning?”

Q frowned. “Confused.”

“Not surprising.” He tutted as he picked up Q chart and started to read it. “Moderate concussion with numerous bruises and abrasions. Do you remember anything about the assault?”

‘Assault?’ Q was even more confused. “No.”

His eyes flicked over to Mairi whose face was flushed red and her eyes were almost crossing as her face twisted more.

“You were attacked accordingly to Miss Paterson. Mugged. You sure you don’t remember anything?”

Q shook his head then regretted the movement. The pain in his head spiked. The doctor reached up and smoothed his fingers around Q’s neck. A sudden blunt tenderness sparked under his fingertips.

“The bruising is reducing but you will be sore for a few more days.” The doctor wrote something in Q’s chart as he stepped away from the bed. “Do you think you will be able to give any information to the PC about your attack?”

Q blinked his eyes again and said, “No, I don’t remember a thing.”

“Alright. I’ll tell the officer there is no reason to question you. Miss Paterson already made a statement.”

“Thank you, doctor.” Q said.

 Q waited until the door clicked closed after the doctor left.

“Tell me what happened.” His voice stern.

“We were making our way to the beach. Bond kept trying to talk us into turning back but you insisted it was the best time. You know the moon and tide thingy. Well we just made it to the beach when – oh, God, you’re not going to believe me.” She twisted away from him and went to the window.

“Tell me.” Q insisted.

“Paddy, we had to get out of there.” She said as she bit her thumb nail.

“I know. That was the plan. We were to get out together – the three of us.”

She hesitated then turned back to him. “We reached the beach and Bond said we had to go back. We refused. He said we had to. He had to stop us.”

Q’s stomach began to feel quesy. She continued.

“I slapped his face. I called him a coward. He pushed me down and you . . . you punched him.”

Q looked down at his hand and saw the bruised knuckles. A flash of the beach came to him. He focused with all of strength to remember.

The dark sky and the black water. The cold breeze coming across the sand. Bond standing in front of him with a look of hatred on his face.

“You said we were going without him and he grabbed you. He grabbed you around your neck. He was choking you. I thought he was going to kill you.” She said “He was working with them. He was one of them. He was going to stop us.”

Q’s finger reached up and touched the bruises around his neck. Sharp prickling pain just under his skin. The tender flesh sore and abused. Bond had tried to kill him. Bond.

“What happened? How did we get away?” Q whispered.

“I . . . there was a rock. I hit him with it. On the back of the head. He went down and we ran. We made it to the fence and were able to swim around it. We got to the other side and walked. It seemed like miles. Probably wasn’t but it seemed like forever. We came to a small farmhouse and the people inside drove us to a town. You weren’t doing good. You kept falling asleep. When Bond let go of you, you fell and hit your head. When we got out of the water, you threw up. You were bleeding. In the town, I told the police you had been mugged. They brought us here.”

Q felt sick. Nothing was making sense. Bond attacked him? Why would Bond try and stop them? He wanted to leave too. He told Q he wanted to escape.

“I need to make a phone call.” Q said quickly glancing around for a phone.

“I’ll make it for you, Paddy.”

Q hesitated. He wanted to speak to MI6 himself. He glanced around but there wasn’t a phone in the room.

“Okay.” Q recited the number then said. “Tell them Andrew Carson is in hospital. Tell them I’m here.”

“Is that your name – Andrew Carson?” she asked.

“No, but it is a name I go by occasionally.” He said.

~Q~

After she had made the phone call for Q, Mairi said she needed to leave. Her fiancé had called her and was coming to pick her up. Q nodded and said he understood. A short time later, the nurse came in with Q’s dinner. A dry piece of meat of unknown origin and some watered down tasteless mashed potatoes. But the tea was good. He savored the taste of it as he ignored the hospital food.

As the sun set, no one else came to visit Q. He had expected someone from MI6 to show up but no one did. It made him feel uncomfortable. He wondered why.

As Big Ben rang out the hour of nine o’clock, Q kicked the blanket off himself and carefully swung his legs out of the bed. He grabbed the IV pole and rolled it into the bathroom with himself. He clicked on the light and was blinded by the brightness in the small sterile room. The white porcelain and tile. The smell of disinfectant. And the tilted mirror.

He stepped closer and stared at his reflection.

He had about three-days’ worth of beard growth. A dark shadow across his cheeks and jaw. It made him look older. His hair seemed longer too. His bouncy curls were plaster flat across his head. Dirty and smelling of salt water. Around his neck was a series of dark bruises. Like black pearls circling his throat. He reached up and carefully pressed his fingertip into the bruise. It stung.

His memory pulled him from the sterile white bathroom and back onto a windy beach in the dead of night. It was cold and the colors had drained away to varying shades of grey and darkness.

The wind was blowing. The surf was pounding into the sandy beach and he could barely hear what was being said to him. Bond stood before him talking. Saying something about needing to turn back. An unreadable expression was on the man’s face. His crystal blue eyes – grey now as well as cold. Bond was staring at Q. His body in a defensive stance. Ready to attack – to kill anyone who got in his way.

“No,” Bond growled.

“We must!” Q said.

He turned but felt Bond’s hands wrap around his neck. The pressure of Bond’s grip pressing down. Taking away Q’s ability to breath. Q gasped. He reached up and grabbed Bond’s wrists. He tried to speak – to beg Bond to let go but no sound came from his parted lips. He had no way to ask for mercy.

Bond continued to stare down at Q as he crushed the younger man’s windpipe. The blue eyes turning dark with rage and hatred.

Q felt lightheaded. He was going to pass out. Bond was going to kill him. This was how Q’s life was going to end. Literally at the hands of James Bond. Bond – who was supposed to be his protector – his friend.

Then he saw Mairi and her raised hand. The rock flying down onto Bond’s skull. The loud thunk and Bond wavering before his grip on Q slackened. Together, they both fell to the ground. The sharp pain of Q hitting his head.

It was all there. The complete memory.

Q blinked his eyes and he was back in the bathroom. He remembered. It was just like what Mairi had told him. Bond tried to kill him.

Q collapsed to his knees and threw up in the toilet.

Chapter Text

Q tried to look out the window. The fix louvers limited his view of the city and the architectural embellishment on the side of the building prevented him from seeing the street below. He could still hear the traffic noise and sound of the city but he couldn’t see much of it.

Q barely slept the previous night. Dreams and nightmares of Bond and him on the beach kept coming back to him. The images of hatred in Bond’s face as his hands wrapped tightly around Q’s throat kept waking the younger man up. He didn’t understand what had happened. He couldn’t imagine Bond trying to kill him. It didn’t make any sense. But he remember it. It had to be true.

The day before, Q had Mairi call Tanner and tell him Q was still alive. But no one from MI6 came rushing over. A guard had been posted outside his door just before he went to bed. Q was told he was sent over by MI5. But still no one from Six. Q didn’t understand why. As the nurses navigated around the guard they were giving Q wary looks.

That morning a nurse came in with Q’s normal clothes. The IV had been removed  and he had finished with his breakfast tray. His checked wool trousers and white cotton shirt felt soft and reassuring after being dressed for weeks in the odd clothing of the village. He wrapped his arms around his body as he shivered. He wished they had brough one of his cardigans.

He was told someone was coming over to interview him but no one knew who the person was. He was expecting Tanner. There was soft knock and Q told the person to come in. When the door opened he was surprised when Mairi walk in again.

“Good morning, Paddy.” She smiled. She was dressed in normal looking clothing and had her long red hair pulled back from her face.

“Hello, I didn’t think I would see you again,” he said as he turned away from the window.

“Arthur is furious but someone from the Foreign Office came by this morning and picked me up. They said they wanted to speak to both of us.”

Q blinked his eyes at her. That was not standard procedure. It was normal to question assets individually to avoid collaboration. Also, MI6 would never allow a civilian to sit in on a debriefing of one of its agents, let alone executives.

“Who from the Foreign Office?” Q asked.

“He said his name was William Tanner.” She said.

“Bill? Is he here?”

“No, he handed me off to two guards and left. What is going on?”

Q blinked again. “I don’t know.”

He turned back to the window when he heard the Big Ben ring out the hour. It was nine o’clock and he had been away from the Village for three days. He wondered what happened to Bond. If he was still in there? Was he still alive? Would he be coming after Q?

The door opened again and man in a  charcoal grey suit came in. He was tall and squared shouldered with a blunt face and very deep brown eyes.

“Quartermaster,” he greeted.

Craig Norman, 003, had only recently been promoted to the status of ‘Double O’ a month before Q had been kidnapped. The circumstances surrounding the man’s promotion were hazy. The promotion came from a request made through Whitehall and the Home Office. It did not come through the normal channels. Q had never assisted the man on any of his ‘op’s’ but he had the reputation of being brash and reckless. Some had even compared him to being the new ‘James Bond’, but Q was not one of those individuals.

“Norman,” Q said his name with the stern under tone of ‘Don’t be such a complete dick to forget basic security protocol.’

Craig Norman’s eyes flashed with a rapid blaze of anger. He didn’t like being dressed down. Especially by someone he considered inferior to his physical presence.

Q’s scornful expression remained on his face as Norman’s fists flexed. 003’s upper lip twitched in a snarl that never completely appeared on his face. And the flush of anger quickly slipped back down. Q thought the man needed to learn to discipline his emotions if he planned on a lengthy career as a Double ‘O’.

Norman’s attention shifted from Q to Mairi.

“Maybe Miss Paterson could wait outside for the moment.” Norman said.

It appeared Mairi was going to argue when Q stepped over to her and patted her on her arm.

“Please, Mairi. I need to speak to this man privately. The quicker I finish up with him the quicker we can get you back to Arthur.”

Mairi smiled at Q and nodded her head. “Of course, Paddy. I’ll be just outside.”

She hesitated, then leaned over and kissed Q’s cheek. Q smiled and patted her arm again. Both men remained quiet until she stepped out of the room. As soon as the door was closed, Q spun on the agent.

“I don’t know who was responsible for your training, 003, but it is obvious they failed to instill in you the significance of secrecy. You never address any of the MI6 executive in public by their code names, you idiot. And my identity is protected under the Official Secrecy Act of 1911. Even acknowledging my connection to MI6 is a treasonable offense.”

“Quit throwing a wobbly. No one is going to care if the slag hears you being called ‘Quartermaster’.” Norman sneered at Q. “I’m here to debrief you per Tanner.”

“Why isn’t Tanner here?” Q asked.

“Probably because he has something better to do.”

“Something better? Something more important than the kidnapping of an executive of MI6?” Q asked sarcastically.

“You sure like throwing that ‘executive’ title around don’t you, Quartermaster.”

“Because that is what I am and I am also someone who can arrange for you to lose your designation of Double ‘O’.”

For a moment, Q thought the man was going to punch him. Norman’s face flushed red again. And his hands flexed into fists. Q remained still, staring the taller and stronger man down. He had learned many years ago that if he were to maintain respect from the operatives, he needed to show no fear of them.

Norman stood staring at Q for several seconds before he realized Q would not be intimidated by him. He broke eye contact first.

“I’m here to ask you what happened, not get into a pissing contest with you, Q.”

“I was waiting for you to remember that.” Q said as he went and sat down in the chair. “I was kidnapped.”

“Alright, by who?”

“I don’t know. I came home from work and was attacked on the front steps of my flat. I woke up in this strange place.”

“Strange how?” Norman asked as he leaned against the wall. His arms crossed over his body as he relaxed himself.

“It was a village. In fact, Number Two called it the Village.”

“Who was Number Two?”

“He appears to be in charge of the place. The village is a group of buildings made to look like someone’s crazy idea of an Italian community. Mixed up buildings in bright colors. Narrow streets and alleys. Gardens and parks with Romanesque venues. Part of my flat was there.” Q said. “They had transported some of my personal items to the bungalow I had there.”

“Were you locked in? Detained?”

“We could walk around the Village and into the forest nearby but there were guards and electrified fences. Anyone who tried to escape was taken into the ‘Re-education’ facility. It was apparently some kind of psychological torture center. Sensory depravation or overload. I never saw any physical torture but I was told that people in the Village were either too important to risk harming with physical torture or were able to withstand that type of interrogation.”

“Were you questioned?” Norman asked.

“Yes, about my name, who I was, and about Project Heracles.” Q said.

“What about Heracles?”

“Just that – what was it? What was my involvement in it.”

Norman shifted off the wall and walked over to the window to look out through the louvers. “Mallory had me read into it but the file was missing several important points. He told me I was to ask you about them.”

Q’s eyes shifted sideways at the man. “He did?”

“Yes, Mallory said you would fill me in on Project Heracles.”

“Such as?”

“When did you come up with the idea for it?”

Q twisted in his chair so he look more closely at Norman. “Mallory told you to ask me when I came up with the idea of Heracles?”

“Yes – if that is not a violation of the Official Secrets Act, Quartermaster?” Norman turned and looked down at Q.

Q stood up. “What else did Mallory tell you to ask me? How Heracles worked? The effectiveness of the drug?”

“As well as delivery of it.” Norman said.

Q stomach twisted. His internal alarm bells were ringing loudly. He walked across the room and closer to the door.

“Mallory knows that information is classified. I’m not permitted to talk about it with anyone.”

Norman walked over to the bed and sat on the edge of it. He frowned. “Mallory said it would alright. If you need to, you can call him and ask him.”

“He did?”

“Yes.” Norman said. Then he snapped his fingers. “I forgot. You can’t call him today. He is meetings with the PM and the Foreign Secretary. He’ll be busy all day.”

“003, I believe you are lying to me.” Q said

Craig Norman blinked and flushed red again, but this time it was not out of anger.

“You need to control your myogenic contractions as well as your adrenergic receptors. Otherwise you will never do well in the field.” Q said as he eased closer to the door.

“What?”

“You blush when you lie.” Q said.

“I do not!” Norman growled.

“Mallory would never ask you to ask me about Heracles Project. He would never ask about how I produced the drug because first off, it’s not a drug. Second off, I didn’t come up with it. Someone else did and only Mallory knew about it. You have been trying to interrogate me this whole time.”

Q grabbed the doorknob and yanked the door open. Mairi was standing in the hallway next to the guard. Q’s nurse was sitting behind a counter with several medical charts piled on the desk next to her. Dr. Abbeydale was sitting in the corner reading a magazine. He feet propped up on the desk as he leaned back.

Q immediately took off running down the hall. He ran through the double doors and into another hallway. He ran until he saw a door that look like it would lead him outside. He pushed through the doors and he ran out into the sun light.

The brightly colored buildings of the Village surround him. The smell of the salt water was mixed the scent of all the blooming flowers. Inhabitants of the Village in their strange colorful clothing walked passed him, indifferent to him.

There was no cars or traffic. No London streets. No Big Ben.

Q turned back and saw Mairi standing next to Number Two. The pudgy man’s grip on his walking stick was tight. He glared down at Q.

Q’s head was spinning. He wanted to keep running but he knew it was hopeless. He was still in the Village. Mairi and Number Two had tricked him.

He turned back to them and lifted his right hand to his face. He encircled his thumb and forefinger and gave the salute.

“Be seeing you.” Q said. Then he turned and walked off. Back towards his bungalow, wondering where Bond was.

Chapter Text

Bond was worried. It had been ten days since Q had disappeared from the village. Bond wandered through the streets looking for the young man. Fearing what happened. Where was he? Bond didn’t think that Number Two would try to use physical torture on Q but the thought was ever present in the back of the Bond’s mind. If Number Two had hurt Q, Bond would relish squeezing the arrogant bastard’s throat until it was crushed.

Bond broke into Q’s bungalow again. It had been the fifth time since the younger man had vanished. Bond let his eyes move over Q’s belongings. The books and the photographs around the room. The silly couch he had found more comfortable to sleep on than any bed he could think of at that moment. The tea kettle and the white mug with its black letter ‘Q’ emblazoned on it. Everything that reminded Bond of Q was here except the man himself.

Q had been a life preserver for Bond. He had given Bond hope that had been broken during his time trapped in the Village. Bond was almost ready to give up when he saw those wild dark curls and the ridiculous black rimmed glasses. Q brought Bond back to himself. And made the agent realize there was a chance again.

The agent had been in the Village for a year. He had struggled to escape numerous times with no success. The last time was when he had tried to steal the helicopter. As it landed and the passenger had gotten out, Bond had taken that moment of inattentiveness of the pilot and pulled him from the cockpit. Bond had jumped in and taken off before the guards had a chance to catch him. His excitement grew as he flew out over the water and away from the accursed Village. He was already planning his revenge against Number Two and the whomever was responsible for the place, when suddenly the helicopter started a slow controlled turn back towards the beach. Bond pulled the control stick in the opposite direction but the helicopter didn’t respond. He pressed the pedals to raise and lower the altitude but the helicopter maintained a level return. He finally let go of the controls and let the machine land itself. It was remotely controlled by someone in the Village. All of his hope and aspirations of escape crashed on the beach as the helicopter lightly touched downed with barely a bump.

That final attempt was the breaking point for Bond. After being lectured to by Number Two of futility of escape he returned to his flat to see everything that could be used to cut with had been removed. Including the mirror in the bathroom. The sheets had been removed from the bed and every one of his belts had been taken. As Bond glanced around the flat, Number Two let himself in.

“We mustn’t let you harm yourself, Number Seven.” He chortled.

“Why would you think I would harm myself?” Bond asked.

“We’ve had subjects like you before. Refusing to accept the inevitable. You are here and here is where you are going to stay unless . . .” He trailed off.

“Unless I kill myself?”

“No, we won’t let that happen. Unless you work with us. And it really is for the best you know. No reason to suffer when all you need to do is cooperate.”

Bond want to punch the arrogant bastard in the face. He hated the man. But he was also with limited options. Bond ignored Number Two and sat down in his chair. Picking up a book he had been reading. Acting as if Number Two was not even there.

The plump man burst out laughing and strolled out of Bond’s flat. As soon as the door was closed, Bond hurled the book at it. He tore his flat apart that night. Looking for something – anything he could use as weapon. There was nothing. He slept fitfully on the bare mattress. In the morning, the ever-present maid arrived with his breakfast.

The days that followed, were bad. Bond wanted a drink. He wanted a cigarette. He wanted to gone. He sunk deeper into a depression. Feeling an itch worming its way under his skin and across his body. He wanted to close his eyes and forget this place. Fall asleep and never wake up.

Then he saw Q. It was like an electric shock. At first he wasn’t certain if Q was a prisoner too or working for Number Two. Then he had watched as Q was attacked by the guards in the woods. He watched as the young man stunned and hauled off the hospital. Bond remembered the hospital and the ‘Re-education’ ward. The sensory overload and auditory torture. He doubted his hearing would ever be the same after a week there. Bond decided to break into the place and rescue Q before he had to endure any torture as Number Two smiled on. But then Q left the hospital the very same day.

When Q left the hospital, Bond started following him around the village. He watched as the young man slowly acclimate himself to the strange place. He saw when Q met Mairi. She looked as scared as he did. Maybe she was safe, maybe she wasn’t. Bond couldn’t be sure. He decided to make contact with the young man.

As soon as he saw Q face to face, it was like nothing had changed. They were still agent and Quartermaster. Then Q hugged him and everything changed. They were James and Q. They were more than a team. More than their individual parts.

Then Q was gone.

Bond felt more alone than he had ever had before in his life. Alone and he was afraid to admit it, hopeless.

He sat on Q’s couch and looked around the room again. He knew it wasn’t Q’s flat in London but it was close enough to invoke the memories. It hurt. He hurt. He physically hurt from Q’s absence. A hollowness that didn’t feel like it would ever be filled. For the first time in Bond’s life, he felt lonely. Not being alone, by lonely.

He struggled to keep the burning tears from slipping from his eyes. The crushing weight of the past year was beginning to suffocate him. If bringing Q here was some kind of psychological torture that Number Two had come up with, it was perfect. Giving Q to Bond then taking him away from the agent was the straw that broke him.

Bond heard the door open and the shuffle of feet across the wooden floor.

“Bond?! What are you doing in here?” Q asked.

Bond was moving before he even thought about. He wrapped Q up in his arms and held him like he was a life preserver to a drowning man.

~Q~

“I was an idiot.” Q said.

“No, you weren’t.” Bond said as the two men sat on the couch.

Q had told Bond what had happened to him while he was away. Q was shocked to learn that he had been gone for ten days. It had only felt like three or four. Bond was disappointed when Q told him that he had believed Mairi when she told him that Bond had tried to strangle Q on the beach. But Q tried to reassure the agent he realized he was stupid for ever doubting him.

“I believed every lie she told me.” Q said.

“They are exceptionally good at deceptions. Look at this place. It’s one big deception to throw you off. And I’m not sure how but they can also manipulate our subconscious too.”

Q looked up at Bond with a confused look on his face. The two men sat on the couch face to face. Bond not allowing Q to move too far outside of his reach.

“The memories I had?”

“Yes, probably you were attacked by someone who looked like me. Then somehow they reinforced the image of me in your mind so you remembered it as being me who tried to choke you.”

Bond glance at the bruises still present on Q’s throat. They were a sickly yellowish green. Four round bruises up each side of his throat and two larger ones on the front. The sight of them pricked something primal in Bond. Something animalistic. He promised himself when he learned who was responsible, they wouldn’t be around afterwards.

“Did they try something like that with you?” Q asked. His hand rubbing slowing over the marks.

“They did something with my dreams when I first came here. It was very – disturbing that they had access to them. I’ve never had to worry about my subconscious thoughts before.”

Bond remembered how they were able to make him dream about Felix and Paloma. It made him clinch his jaw.

“Tell me about.” Q said.

“Why?” Bond asked.

“I just need to know. I feel like a failure right now for being duped by them. I need to know I couldn’t have been so stupid to not see it.”

Bond leaned back and began to talk. Q mirrored him on the couch and after a while, his hand felt the soft caress of Bond’s fingers.

Chapter Text

Q listened to Bond’s story about the dream manipulation. When Bond was done, Q shivered and leaned closer to Bond.

“I can’t believe it.” He whispered. “How can they do that?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never heard of anything like it. When we get back to Six, we’ll have to tell them about it. Come up with some way to defeat it.”

Q twisted and looked into Bond’s eyes. The agent caught the fear and doubt there.

“What is it?” Bond asked.

“Six. I don’t think we can go back to them.”

“Why?”

“They are involved in this.” Q whispered.

Bond glanced up at the camera in the room and then back to Q. He leaned closer and spoke softer.

“What do you mean?”

“It was a double ‘O’ who came to interrogate me in the hospital. 003, I knew him. He was promoted months ago. The promotions didn’t come through normal channels but he still passed the background checks and requirements. And my things . . .” Q waved his hand around the room. “My personal belongings from my flat are here. They couldn’t just come in and take things out of my flat without anyone from Six not knowing about it. Then there is Simon Rogers.”

“Who?” Bond asked.

“Simon Rogers – he was a double ‘O’ forty years ago. He was actually 007.” Q gave a weak smile.

Bond raised a sceptic eyebrow.

“He is here. His career was spotty at best and his reputation is one that Six prefers to keep hidden. He became addicted to heroin on one of his missions.”

Bond frowned. He had heard a rumor but decided it was just envy by field agents who were never quite able to meet mark and advance to the level of Double ‘O’.

“He’s here? You’ve talked to him?” Bond asked.

“Yes. He was too much of a security risk to leave on his own once he was cut loose from MI6. They brought him here. As far as I can tell he’s been here for at least thirty years. Maybe longer.” Q said.

“Then Six is compromised or deeply involved. Either way, we cannot expect any assistance from them. It will be down to us to get ourselves out of here.” Bond said.

Q subtilty nodded his head.

Bond stood and started to move away when Q reached up and grabbed his hand.

“Where are you going?” Q asked.

“It’s late. I’m going to leave and let you get some sleep.”

“Don’t!” Q jumped up and stepped into Bond’s personal space.

Bond could see the fear in Q’s face. In his expression.

“Q?”

“I just . . . please, don’t leave. Stay here.”

“With you?” Bond asked softly.

A red flush came over Q’s hollow cheeks. His eyes darted left and right.

“Ah . . . not like that but yes . . . please.”

“Alright, I’ll kip on the couch again. You take the bed.”

Q looked at the couch and then at the bedroom door and returned to Bond’s face.

“No . . .” Q’s eyes flicked towards the bedroom door. “I’ve never slept in there – alone.”

“What are you suggesting?” Bond asked.

“We could sleep with our clothes on. And if you want – a pillow between us?”

Bond hummed a soft laugh. A placating smile joined it. “No pillow. And you will want to be comfortable. You wear whatever you normally wear to sleep in.”

“What about you?” Q asked.

“Would you be offended if I slept in my skivvies?” Bond asked.

“Is that what you normally sleep in when you share a bed?” Q asked wondering why he asking.

“No, normally I sleep in the nude.” His voice slipping into his seductive octave.

Q’s blush deepened and reached up into his ears.

“Skivvies are fine.” He gulped.

~Q~

The room was dark and the sheets smelled stale. Q was regretting the idea of sleeping here. He doubted the sheets had even been changed in the weeks he had been held prisoner in the Village. They seemed scratchy and he wished he had washed them before.

Bond laid on the right-hand side of the bed, flat on his back with his hands across his chest. Q could barely see him in the darkness. Q was so close the edge of the bed, he risked falling off. The blonde was still and Q couldn’t even hear his breathing. For a moment, Q feared Bond was dead.

Slowly he slid his hand across the mattress towards Bond, wanting to touch the man’s arm. Feel his warmth and reassure himself of Bond’s existence.

“You’re thinking too loud.” Bond whispered into the darkness.

Q’s whole body jerked at the sound of the man’s voice.

“I can’t stop.” Q whispered and he pulled his hand back.

Bond rolled over on his side and tried to stare into Q’s face.

“What is it?” Bond asked. He laid his hand on top of Q’s retreating hand.

Q glanced at their joined hands and swallowed hard.

“Heracles.” Q whispered.

“What about it?”

“If Six is doing this to us, then why do they keep asking about Heracles?”

“I don’t know. Could it be another agency within the government? Someone with limited access to MI6 personnel records?”

“Maybe but who?”

“They would have to be someone important. An agency with not only British influence but connections to other security services of foreign countries.”

Q suddenly whimpered as he realized something. “I made a mistake.”

“You told them that Mallory was behind Heracles and not you.” Bond whispered.

“Yes. They’ll be going after Mallory next.”

“You think we should escape and warn him?” Bond asked.

“Don’t you. I mean, if they really are after Heracles, he would be the next link in the chain.”

“The chain is broken. Obruchev was the only one who could create it and he is dead. And despite Mallory’s attempt at omnipotence, I sincerely doubt he is medically inclined to explain how Heracles works. He was surprised by how easy it was to manipulate. That it would be indiscriminate in its killing.” Bond whispered. “He really didn’t understand it at all.”

“But Mallory is still in danger of being kidnapped.” Q said softly as he leaned closer to Bond.

“He is the head of MI6. He is highly protected.”

“As well as their Quartermaster?”

Bond’s hand squeezed Q’s. “I’m protecting you now. I will keep you safe.”

Q felt a shiver run through his body. He didn’t realize how frightened he was until that very moment when Bond finally reassured him that he was there to protect him. He could feel the tears welling up behind his closed eyelids.

Bond sensed Q was about to break. He was at the very edge of his control.

“Bond . . .” Q’s voice cracked.

Bond shifted again and opened his arms. “Com’n here,” he whispered and pulled Q into a soft embrace.

Q immediately moved and wrapped his arms around Bond’s torso. He didn’t speak but rested his head on the older man’s shoulder. Bond’s arms slipped around Q’s thin body and pulled him closer.

“We’ll get out of here and warn Mallory. But we can’t go back to MI6. It’s too dangerous for you. We need to make sure the moles are gone and you will be safe. I won’t let anyone hurt you again.”

Q nodded his head and the tears slipped from his eyes. Bond’s fingertips started to stroke slowly up and down Q’s bare arms. Drawing nonsensical patterns on the skin.

“I’m sorry.” Q whispered.

“For what?”

“I’m not being very brave am I? I’m sorry for being so . . . foolish.”

“Don’t be. You’ve never been in a situation like this before. Neither of us have.” Bond rumbled. “Go to sleep now. I’ll be here in the morning.”

Q finally relaxed and breathed in deeply. The scent of the man flooded into him. And for now, it was calming and reassuring. Together they would escape.

~Q~

Q woke when he felt the mattress shift as Bond climbed out of the bed.

“Wha’s happened? Where’re ya going?” Sleep still coated his words.

“It’s all right. Go back to sleep. The sun is up and I’m going to go fix us something to eat. Neither of us ate last night. Remember?” Bond said as he leaned over Q’s sleepy face.

“Come back to bed.” He said softly, wanting the other man to return to the warmth of sheets.

Just then Q’s stomach growled in complaint. Q frowned but reached up for Bond.

“Breakfast first.” Bond hummed humorously. And then to both men’s surprise, he leaned closer and kissed Q’s forehead.

Q’s eyes flew open as he stared up into Bond’s icy blue ones. Bond didn’t move but hovered a moment over Q. The weight of expectance heavy between them. He felt he had overstepped an invisible boundary between the two of them. That maybe, he had let his own anxiety over their imprisonment alter his perception of their dynamics.

Q swallowed audibly and asked, “Do you remember how to fix my tea?”

Bond was not expecting that question but it relieved the tension in the room. He smirked down at his Quartermaster as he said, “As if I could forget.”

Slowly, he leaned back and was grateful that Q hadn’t ordered him out of the room or demanded to know what Bond was thinking, because honestly, Bond wasn’t thinking. It just seemed like a natural reaction. Something he had done countless times before – but he hadn’t. He never let his personal feelings towards his Quartermaster ever show more than the teasing flirting he did with the man. The same teasing flirting he did with a dozen members of staff. But Q was different. Their relationship was different. And it wasn’t until that very moment when his lips touched the warm skin of Q’s forehead did Bond know it.

Then everything came into clearer focus for the agent. The reason he was both relieved and suspicious of Q’s arrival at the Village. The feelings of apprehension he had towards Mairi. The fear he felt with Q vanished for the two weeks and the willingness to hold the frightened young man last night. Even his petty snub he gave to Q’s date when he first returned to London. It all made sense to him. His feelings he had been denying himself for months – maybe years. The reason he said those final words to Q when he thought he was going to die on that island. ‘I’m sorry, Q.’

Sorry? Sorry for what? Not acknowledging his feelings to him. Not telling the young man how important he was. For wasting time with a woman he could never truly trust or be honest with. There were so many reasons he said the word that he had never said to anyone else expect in sarcasm.

“Earl Grey with far too much honey in it.” He smiled down at the Q still looking up at him in astonishment.

“And toast too.” Q said softly.

Bond’s smile broadened as he said, “Cheeky.”

He turned to leave, telling himself he was leaving to fix his Quartermaster his tea. He wasn’t fleeing the room to protect the delicate and evolving relationship between Q and himself.

~Q~

Q laid in the warm sheets as his heart pounded in his chest. He wondered why Bond hadn’t heard it. It had to be loud enough to be heard by anyone passing by outside. For a moment, Q thought he was going to start to hyperventilate.

Bond had kissed him. Bond had kissed him!

Q knew he was going to hyperventilate.

He laid in the rapidly cooling bed as he replayed the scene in his head. What had he done? Was Bond taking pity on the younger man because of his fear last night? Was Bond treating him like he was a frightened child? The last thing Q wanted was for Bond to consider him helpless and another one of those stupid damsels in distress that seemed to flock towards the agent and his stunning blue eyes. How would Q ever be able to face the man professionally if he knew how much Q felt for him.

Q replayed the conversations from the previous night over in his head. He analyzed every word looking for the moment when he had slipped up and given too much to Bond. When Bond realized that Q was just as besotted with Bond as all the other foolish men and women who threw themselves at the agent.

Q groaned and covered his face with his hands. He wanted to crawl back under the blanket and forget everything that had just happened. Or better yet, hope that Bond would forget it. Forget how Q stared at him like a lovesick teenager when the older man’s lips touched his forehead. Or how pathetic Q was last night, crying in the man’s arms. Or the fact that Q didn’t trust him or believe in him when he was taken in by Mairi. Or even how much those stupid five days of living with Bond were the most special days of Q’s pathetic miserable life.

Q wanted to hide. He was the lovesick pseudo-adolescent he appeared to be Bond. No wonder Bond kissed his forehead instead of his lips.

And why didn’t he kiss my lips!? Q wondered. If I have to endure this much anxiety for a kiss, it should at least have been on my lips!

Q groaned again and rolled over to bury his face in the pillow. The pillow that still smelled of Bond. Q could feel the flush of embarrassment travel up his face and through his body. He didn’t know how he was going to able to look at Bond again, let alone be in the same room with him. Bond must think he is ridiculous. No wonder why Bond kissed on the forehead instead of the lips.

But he had to get up and face the man. Better to do it standing up instead of hiding under the blanket in bed.

Q kicked the covers off his legs and pulled himself out of bed. He slipped on a robe and knotted the belt. The scent of brewed tea came to him as soon as he opened the door. Like a siren’s call, it pulled Q to the kitchen regardless of the young man’s apprehension of seeing Bond again.

Bond was standing at the hob frying up bangers. He was dressed in his white t-shirt and trousers from the previous night. There was something so familiar about it but also surreal. It was like before. When the two of them lived together in London. Every morning waking to Bond fixing breakfast. Five days. He reminded himself. ‘Only five days.’ But it was more. It meant more. Bond was there with him. He decided to be there with him. Maybe – just maybe – Q meant more to Bond too.

Maybe he this was the moment.

Bond saw Q and set the spatula he was holding down. He reached for the cup of tea he had made and held it out to Q.

It smelled wonderful. Q reached for it – his eyes focused on the cup instead of the man holding it.

“Thank you.” Q whispered as he brought the cup up to lips.

“I should be the one thanking you, Q.” Bond said.

Q’s eyes flicked up and looked questioningly through his fringe. Bond continued.

“I’d just about given up on escaping here, then you showed up. Now I know we’ll escape. You’ve given me a reason to.”

Q sipped his tea before answering. “I don’t believe you would ever give up, 007. It is not in your nature.”

Q saw a sardonic smiled come to Bond’s face.

“Don’t believe I don’t know you better than you know yourself, Bond.” Q said trying as hard as he could to regain his Quartermaster composure as he stood in front of the man. “You will never give up until you are able to slap the devil in the face.”

Bond gave a huffing laugh.

“Is that what you believe?” He asked.

“That is what I know. You will get us out of here and we will return to burn this place to the ground after we escape.” Q said carefully setting down his cup. “But before we do that, please return to your cooking before you burn those sausages.”

“As you say, Quartermaster.”

Bond hesitated for a moment simply staring at Q. That was when Q was overwhelmed with a sense of purpose. He was Bond’s Quartermaster. Damn to hell everything else, he was still the one who dictated what the agent should do. Q thought to himself, ‘in for a penny, in for a pound’. Or as the Americans say, ‘Damn the torpedo and full speed ahead’.

“And if you choose to give someone a good morning kiss, make it a truly unforgettable kiss.”

Q stepped forward and wrapped his hand around the nape of Bond’s neck, as he pulled the older man closer. Q tipped his head to the side as he pressed his lips eagerly against Bond’s. Smoothing and lapping against the man’s firmer lips.

It took Bond a moment to catch up to Q but then wrapped his free hand round Q’s waist and pulled the younger man closer. Quickly taking over the kiss. Listening to soft moaning sound coming from deep inside Q’s throat. He felt Q’s tongue lightly smear against his lips and he gladly parted his own to allow Q entrance. Bond tasted the Earl Grey and honey, then something slightly earthy. Something warm and delicious as Q’s tongue began its tentative exploration.

Bond’s tongue chased after Q’s and he licked his way into the young man’s mouth. The fingers of his hand spread out and pulled the man closer – pressing the young man to his chest. He felt himself synchronizing his breathing with Q’s. In his mind, he wondered how much argument he would get out of Q if he simple picked the man up and carried him back to the bedroom.

There was a pop and sizzle and both men stopped kissing to look down at the black smoke swirling above the bangers in the skillet.

“Bond, I did mention you were supposed to prevent our breakfast from burning.” Q looked down at their rapidly charring breakfast.

“I was concentration on your other command, Quartermaster.” Bond said.

With his hand still wrapped around Q’s waist, Bond reached over and pulled the skillet off the hop. He returned his attention back to Q but before he could say or do anything the door of the flat opened and Number Two came in.

The smile was yanked from Number Two’s face when he saw Q and Bond in an embrace.

“Number Seven, you told about that would not be allowed.” Number Two growled.

Q turned in Bond’s arms and looked  at him. “Number Seven? You must be joking?”

“What would you expect.” Bond said. Then he turned back to Number Two as he smoothly maneuvered Q to stand behind him. “You honestly didn’t expect me to follow your rules, did you?”

The corners of Number Two’s mouth dropped another half inch. “I could hope for some cooperation out of you but I see I was being foolish. There will be consequences for you, Number Seven.”

“Don’t you dare.” Barked Q.

Number Two raised an eyebrow at the younger man. “And as for you . . .” He stepped closer. “Since you were unwilling to go long with our little charade, you will be taken to the Re-education Center for a more . . . in-depth discussion.”

“I do not think so.” Bond growled.

“You said I was too valuable to harm. You wouldn’t use torture on me.” Q said quickly from behind Bond.

“There are various ways to acquire information, Number Six. I admit some are crude but there are others far more effective than Number Twenty-four.”

“Number Twenty-four? Mairi?” Bond asked.

“Yes.”

Q scowled realizing he had been complete taken in by the woman. The smile returned to Number Two’s face.

“We could just have a simple chat. Reminisce about old times.” Number Two mused.

“Or not. Surely you know by now that I do not know anything about Project Heracles.” Q said.

“But there are other things we would like to know. Like why you resigned? What were you planning to do once you were free of MI6’s restraints. For whom were you going to work?” Then Number Two’s attention switched to Bond’s “Why you didn’t want anyone at MI6 to know you were alive? And after what I just saw – were the two of you working together?”

Q stepped closer to Bond. Relieved to feel the warmth from the other man’s body.

“Or were you just doing what you were asked to do – get information from the other.” Number Two said to both of them. “I mean really, who can you trust.”

He turned and walked towards the front door. The door opened but Number Two paused.

“I will expect you at my home before noon today, Number Six. Eat a hardy breakfast. You will need it.”

Then the man left. Leaving the heavy weight of doubt.

Chapter Text

Number Two left Bond and Q alone. The smell of the cooking bangers filled the room as both men stared silently at the closed door.

“You know he is manipulative?” Bond said.

Q turned at looked at Bond. Bond could see it. There was something behind the hazel eyes. Something that look like regret – anxiety. Q tried to look relaxed Bond saw the slight tremor in the younger man’s body. The younger man forced a smile. Anyone would think Q was simply upset by Number  Two’s presence but years of working with Q had taught Bond to see the cues. The minute tells that no one else ever saw.

Fear.

“He is trying to make us doubt each other.” Bond said almost in a whisper.

“I . . . I should know. I want to believe you.”

“Then do.” Bond said as he took a step forward.

Instinctually, Q retreated. Bond stopped but refused to step back.

“You’ve been here for a year?” Q asked.

Bond didn’t answer him. Q didn’t want to have a conversation. He was calculating the chances – the odds that Bond had been turned.

“I’m the one who should doubt you.” Bond said.

“What? Why?” The accusation dropped the spanner in Q’s mechanical brain. His fear that Bond was manipulating him turned into anger at the man for doubting Q’s loyalty.

“I’ve been here a year and they’ve tried various methods to acquire information from me. Deception, coercion and yes, even physical torture. None of it has worked. What better way than sending someone like you here to earn my trust. Lower my defenses and talk.”

“I would never do that!” Q said affronted.

“Don’t you think I know that Q.” Bond said firmly. “I’ve worked with you for years. I trusted you more than any other member of MI6. I would put my life in your hands in a heartbeat because I know . . .  I know beyond any doubt that you would do anything to bring me home alive and safe. I believe in you, Q.”

Q blinked his eyes as he listened to Bond. A slight blush colored his cheek.

“But . . .”

“But nothing.” Bond continued. “They made a mistake. Number Two made a mistake. He thought I would doubt your loyalty. Maybe because you quit. Maybe because it’s something about him and what he holds dear. But I know you, Q. I know that you would slap the devil himself if it would bring an agent home. And your loyalty is to the people you work with. The double ‘O’s and the field agents. Even your minions but not to the concept of MI6. Not the vague notion of county and governments. But to us. Those of us who depend on you to get us back.”

Q’s mouth felt dry.

“You make me sound like some kind of hero. Saint Q.”

“You are a hero but not the kind most people think of. And as for saint, well that kiss told me other wises.” A small smirk came to Bond’s face.

Q leaned back on his heels. “Alright, convince me. Why should I believe it is Number Two and not you who is manipulating me? I mean, you are the perfect agent for seduction.”

Q noticed the slight wince in Bond’s face – around the eyes. Instantly he regretted the comment but he still need to know.

“Tell me.” Q demanded.

“If I had been turned and become a puppet of Number Two’s, wouldn’t I have helped Mairi trick you? I would have been with you the two weeks you were gone. I would have come to you sooner instead of waiting. I would have made sure my seduction was more thorough and completely enthralling.”

Bond was please to a bright rouge cover Q’s shocked face. The younger man looked like he had just been caught doing something very inappropriate.

“Well?” Bond asked as he took a step closer to Q.

“Yes, then . . . well . . . yes you’re quite right.” Q ducked his head and turned to leave.

Bond reached out and grabbed Q’s elbow. He turned the young man back towards him. He gently pulled Q closer and then lightly brushed his lips over Q’s.

“Not to say that I can’t be motivated to be captivating later.”

Q hesitated as his eyes scanned over Bond’s face.

“I will expect nothing less, 007” Q leaned in and returned a quick kiss to Bond.

Bond smiled.

“Alright, what is our next move, Quartermaster?”

Q glanced over at the cameras and frowned. “First we throw out the burned sausages. Second we go out for breakfast and find somewhere we can talk and not be spied on.”

Bond’s smile broadened. “I know just the place.”

~Q~

The sea breeze was blowing through the windows of the tower. It was cool and both men had their hands tucked into their coat pockets as they glanced down at the Village below.

“I don’t know how much of what Mairi told me was true and how much was a lie.” Q said.

“There is always some truth in a cover.” Bond said as he watched the band march by. The music was barely audible in the tower. The wind blocked the sound. It was loud enough to prevent the two men from being overheard.

“She said that the Russians had a facility where they sent people for enhanced interrogation by psychological manipulation.”

“Well, that would describe this place.”

“But I don’t think the Russians from seventy years ago are still running this place. I don’t even think this is Russian.” Q said.

“It’s not. I’ve been working out where we are exactly. Based on the weather patterns and the stars as well as other things, I believe we are in Western Europe. Maybe even somewhere in England.”

That information was both reassuring and disturbing to Q.

“So you think the government is involved?” Q asked.

“Yes, but I’m not completely sure whose government. Remember Nine Eyes was a governmental program but was funded by private benefactors.” Bond said.

“Then the Village could be working independently of the British government but with consent from the government?”

“It could be working with consent from several governments. Remember you said you’ve met people from several different countries. Different nationalities. What if this some kind of prison or camp for former members of the government who are too dangerous to be left alone after they leave service?” Bond suggested.

“Then there are several individuals I would like to send here.” Q growled. Then Q realized what he had just said. “Sorry, that was idiotic.”

“No, it’s not. It makes sense.”

“Then why are they questioning us about Heracles?” Q asked.

“Because who ever is funding this mad house, is in it for the money.”

“And knowledge is money.” Q finished Bond’s thought.

“Exactly.” Bond said. “Now knowing that, we need information too. Remember me telling you about the time I tried to steal the helicopter?”

“Yes.” Q said. “You said you only got a couple of hundred yards out before the helicopter turned around and flew back in.”

“Remote controlled. Yes. But that can only work for a short distance, correct?”

“Yes. The best we can do for remote control flying is less than five miles. That’s with drones, a working helicopter would be less. Maybe two miles.” Q’s eyes suddenly grew wider. “So if you can get past the two – let’s make it three miles you will have complete control over the helicopter and you can fly us both out of here.”

Bond nodded his head.

“Well, we first need to determine where the radio signal is coming from and make sure there isn’t any relay stations that expand the distance. Second, we need to disable the radio signal and then commandeer the helicopter.” Q said.

“Simple enough.” Bond said. “But I’ve been here a year and I’ve looked. I can’t find where the control station is.”

Q smiled brightly. “Then we need to talk to someone who’s been here longer.”

Chapter Text

Number Eight-nine, Simon Rogers, was dressed in a broad stripe blazer of bold colors. He wore a straw boater’s hat on his head as he sat at his table alone. He was ignoring the other people sitting at tables on the lawn in front of the Elderly Home. A chess board and a sandwich were in front of him. Rogers lightly salted his sandwich before he moved a chess piece. He was playing a game by himself.

Q sat down on the opposite side of the table, a smug smile came to Simon Rogers’ face.

“Good morning, Quartermaster,” Rogers said sarcastically. “Are we still suffering from delusions of grandeur?”

Bond swung a chair over from another table and set it beside Q’s. He sat down and stared at the former agent.

“And who it this? Your bodyguard or are you going to try and convince me he is a double ‘O’?”

Roger smirked as he glanced over Bond’s unemotional face. Rogers hesitated for a moment then glanced back at Q.

“I’m not one to be easily intimidated, young man.” Rogers said confidently.

“I never presumed you would be.” Q said as he rearranged the pieces on the chess board to set up for a new game.

Rogers pressed his finger down on the white grains of salt on his plate then licked at them. He frowned. “Something else faking it. Just like Zorin and his racehorses.” 

Q ignored the comment. Instead, he moved his pawn out in front of his queen. Rogers glanced down at the board then back up at Q. The former agent moved his pawn to intercept Q’s. Rogers glanced at Bond again.

“American?”

“British.” Bond said coolly.

“Freelance?”

“Queen and county.”

“Are you here for a game of chess?” Rogers asked suspiciously.

“And other things.” Q said instead of Bond.

Rogers’ eyes glanced over at Bond again. There was a shift behind Rogers watery blue eyes. A recognition.

“Rank?” He asked Bond.

“Classified but the same as yours.” Bond said.

“Are you here for me . . .” Rogers trailed off as he seemed to remember something very distant in his mind.

Bond shifted in his chair, opening the buttons on his blazer. Rogers tensed at the movement and he leaned back immediately – expecting Bond to brandish a gun. Q noticed a change in the man. As if a veil had been pulled backed.

“A live and let live attitude, I hope?” Rogers asked.

“No, more of a live and let die attitude.” Bond smiled.

“You’re an assassin aren’t you?” Rogers asked quietly. His voice had lost its sarcasm. It was deeper and more intent.

“It takes one to know one.” Bond replied just as quiet.

“I wasn’t just a hired killer.” Roger said indignantly. “I was a professional. An asset to Queen and country.”

“As I said before, it takes one to know one.” Bond’s smile didn’t reach his eyes.

Rogers turned back to Q. “And who are you? For real, no more telling porkies that you are the Quartermaster.”

Q glanced at Bond who kept his attention fixed on Rogers. He turned back and sighed. He moved another pawn.

“I work – or worked in TSS. I am a computer programmer but I resigned. That night I was black bagged here. I’m trying to escape now. I knew Bond from before. Bond and I worked together at MI6. He left six years ago.” Q nodded towards Bond. “We’re going to escape together.”

Rogers attention sharpened. The fog behind his eyes seemed to lift. A sharpness and clarity seemed to come to them. For the briefest of moments, Q saw the real Simon Rogers, 007, of MI6. The Queen’s own.

“It won’t be easy. There is surveillance everywhere.” Rogers said.

“We know,” Bond said. “But what we don’t know is where they watch us from.”

Rogers glanced around the lawn at the other people playing chess. He moved his bishop forward.

“What exactly do you want from me. I’m a little too old to be shooting my way out of here.”

“Intel. What you are the best at.” Q said.

Rogers’ eye flashed up at the younger man, then a small nod of the head.

“I’m not really read in on the operation of this particular facility.”

“You’ve been here longer than anyone else I know. You’ve seen things. Observed them. You know things that other people, even the guards don’t know.” Q said as he moved his knight.

“This place was built in the fifties, you know. Modern surveillance but old buildings.” Rogers said as he took Q’s knight with his bishop.

Q hunched his shoulders forward and leaned over the chess board. He moved his other knight forward.

Rogers leaned back in chair. He appeared to be studying the chess board. He tapped his chin with his finger then reached for his queen. He held her for a few seconds then placed it back on the board.

“About two years after I arrived here, there was a fire. It was in an underground bunker. Actually right under Number Two’s house, believe it or not. Everyone died who was inside there. Poor ventilation apparently.”

Q moved his rook forward. Rogers continued.

“About a month later, new flowerpots were placed in the garden just behind Number Two’s house. Big ones with bushy plantings. Beautiful ones. I looked. Above ground ventilation ducts. Small stove pipe affairs with only a small covering to prevent rain and animals getting in. Very well hidden.”

Q smiled.

“Simple coverings – easy to remove?” the young man asked.

“If you have a screwdriver and no one is looking.” Rogers said as he moved another chess piece.

“Alright, what about a power grid? Some kind of transformer or relay station?” Bond asked.

Rogers tutted and took Q’s rook from the chess board. “Power source has been up-graded several times. All above ground.”

“Alright, where is it?” Q asked as he moved a chess piece.

“Behind the Elderly Home. Near the turn for the hospital is a large boulder.”

“I’ve seen it.” Bond said.

“It’s fake. Just like the grave Kananga was usings as an elevator.”

“Kananga?” Bond glanced at Q then turned back towards Rogers.

“It’s hinged. A pressure pad on the far side of it – near the base. There is a relay station within it. I don’t know what it is directly for, but it showed up around the same time as the flowerpots.” Rogers said as he leaned forward and moved another chess piece.

Q moved his and took Rogers’ knight. “Security around it?”

“Initially there was a guard posted there, but I’ve not seen one in years. All but forgotten by the residence.” Roger moved his queen across the board. “Check.”

Q quickly shook his head. He hadn’t really been paying attention to the game. He was surprised that Rogers had gotten him into check. He studied the board for a moment then moved his knight to block the queen.

“Kananga was using the natives’ fear of voodoo to cover up his poppy plantation.” Rogers said as he moved another chess piece.

Q countered Rogers move with a rook. “That was a long time ago, 007.”

Bond turned and looked at Q again.

“That was his number?” Bond asked. “007?”

Q leaned back and turned to Bond. “You didn’t honestly think you were the first one, did you? There have been five other agents before you.”

Rogers brow knitted as he stared at the other two men. “Five other agents? What are you talking about? I’m the only 007. Anyone else is an imposter. You’re trying to trick me. Did General Gogol send you? Are you KGB?”

“KGB? They don’t exist anymore.” Q gasped.

“I knew you were a fake. Where did you train? Moscow or Leningrad?”

“No, I’m who I said I was.” Q said trying to calm the elderly agent down.

“You claimed you were Q. You’re not Q. M would never have someone like you as Quartermaster.” Roger knocked the chess board off the table. The chess pieces went flying. “You’re trying to trick me. You work for Stromberg.”

He stood up and stormed off. Bond watched as the man marched away. Q sighed and bent down to pick up the discarded sandwich and the chess board. He picked up the condiments and the tray the food had been on.

“That was your connection for intel?” Bond asked.

“There’s a simple way to find out. Let’s go check the flowers.”

~Q~

Bond and Q didn’t immediately go to the park on the hill behind Number Two’s home. They wandered slowly through the Village. Pausing ever so often for Bond to determine who was watching them and who was not. They stopped in the small grocery story and Q became excided to learn that the portly clerk had Jelly Babies to sell.

“I love Jelly Babies,” Q chortled.

“Really, Q?” Bond seem exasperated by the younger man. “Fan of Dr. Who?”

“Who isn’t?” Q said as he popped a piece of the candy into his mouth.

They walked slowly through the twisty roads until they came to the steps that led up to Number Two’s house and the garden beyond. Together the two men climbed the steps and moved into the garden. There were statues and marble benches dispersed throughout the garden. In the far corner was a row of tall ornate planters. Almost five feet tall with bushy peonies and geraniums.

Q went straight for the planter but before he could reach up Bond grabbed his hand and pulled him behind the planter. The blond quickly twisted Q around and pushed him back against the marble planter – pressing his own body into Q’s. Bond’s mouth descended down onto Q’s for a messy greedy kiss.

Q struggled for a moment then eagerly returned Bond’s kiss. His thin wrist pulled out of Bond’s grasp and his arms wrapped around the blonde’s shoulders.

Bond moved subtly from Q’s lips to his jawline then down to his neck. His hands mapping out the shape of Q’s body under the younger man’s clothes.

“We are being watched.” Bond whispered into Q’s ear as he kissed the sensitive skin just behind it.

Q tensed briefly then relaxed in Bond’s embrace. “Did they notice me looking?”

“Probably not, but we need to be more careful.” Bond shifted and returned to kissing Q’s mouth.

Q’s hands snaked up Bond’s back and into his hair. He didn’t want to admit it to himself but he had dreamed and fantasied about doing just that after Bond had stayed with him in his flat. Regardless of the reason now, Q let his fantasies play out.

He shifted his body so Bond’s leg would slip between his. Then Q leaned forward a pressed is hardening length against the agent’s thigh. Bond growled when he felt the swell in Q’s trousers. His grip tightened and for the briefest of moments he forgot the reason they were there in the garden.

Bond hummed his appreciation as he moved again to Q’s neck. Q could feel Bond’s reaction too. The hard bulge pressed to his own thigh. Q tipped his head up to give the man better access when he realized they were still needing to check the planters.

“First thing first.” Q said as he twisted in Bond’s embrace and leaned forward. Placing his backside directly into Bond’s groin.

“Q . . .” Bond moaned, as he grabbed the younger man’s hips and stared down at the clothed pert butt.

His hand moved and stroked over the round globes. Q gasped as he reached up and gripped the edge of the large planter. He face duck down into the large peony flowers.

The two men heard the giggling of women. Bond glanced sideways and saw two women dressed in maid’s uniforms, standing there watching them. He wrapped his hands around Q’s waist and pulled him back to stand up straight.

“I think we need to go somewhere more – private.” Bond muttered loud enough for the two women to hear him. Their laughter grew louder.

Q awkwardly adjusted his rumpled clothing and nodded his head. His face was beet red with embarrassment. “Yes . . . ahh . . . please.”

Q stumbled but Bond easily caught him and the two walked out of the garden, arm in arm, as the women laughed and gossiped behind them.

When they were back on the lane leading to Q’s bungalow, Bond leaned closer and asked.

“Are the vents there?”

Q felt a rush of excitement. “Yes, just like Rogers said they would be.”

Chapter Text

Q felt light-headed as he rushed back to his bungalow with Bond. They didn’t run but neither did they tarry. He couldn’t help but smile broadly as he felt Bond’s hand resting lightly on the small of his back. As soon as the door closed on the small house, Bond pushed Q up against it. Pressing his body against Q’s as he moved close. Anyone watching them on the cameras would have believed that Bond was taking advantage of the moment to kiss Q’s neck.

Instead, Bond whispered into Q’s skin. “Remember, we are being listened to as well as watched.”

Q’s body shook slightly from fear, as Bond reminded him, they were still in a prison. A pretty and unusual one that gave the inmates their own semi-homes to live in but still watched and guarded.

“Yes . . .” Q whispered back as he pressed himself closer to the wall. “Bond, wait . . .”

Bond tipped his head back and looked up into Q’s face. Q could see the determination in Bond’s eyes. He wasn’t overwhelmed or lustful – he was ready to attack – kill if he had too. The man’s blue eyes were cold and unrelenting. Frightening focused.

“I want . . .” Q stumbled over the words. “A . . . ahh, shower. Please.”

There was slight tightening to the muscles under Bond’s left eye. It was the only tell that Q saw. Q watched Bond as the agent remembered that there were no cameras in the bathrooms, only listening devices.

“Alright, sounds . . . perfect.” Bond purred back to him, seductively.

He took Q’s hand and pulled him towards the bedroom and then into the bathroom. Slamming the door once they were in there.

~Q~

Number Two and his assistance watched the video screen as the two men retreated into the bathroom.

“Are you going to send the guards in?” The assistant asked.

“Why?”

“You told Number Seven he was not to seduce anyone while he was here.” The assistant reminded Number Two.

The pudgy man didn’t care for his assistant very much. He found the man’s voice annoying. Too nasally and high pitched. It was like being barked at by a small dog.

“He’s behaved for twelve months.” Number Two said nonchalantly. He never expected Bond to remain abstinent.

“He is still disobeying your orders.”

Number Two rolled his eyes. ‘Who was his assistant, to believe he needed to be reminded of his own rules he had set.’ Number Two made a mental note to request a new assistant once the information was finally retrieved from the members on MI6. Maybe someone from Ministry of State Security of the PRC – China’s secret police. The thought made him smile.

“You knew he was going to seduce Number Six. It was your plan to begin with, wasn’t it?” His assistant misunderstood his boss’ smile.

“Of course,” Number Two huffed. Never letting anyone believe he wasn’t in complete control of everything that happened in the Village.

“To what end?” asked his assistant.

“To make the betrayal that much sweeter.” Number Two said, as he reached over and turned off the screen.

~Q~

As soon as Q entered the bathroom he turned the shower on. The water sprayed against the tiles and filled the room with noise. Bond stepped closer reaching up to grabbed Q’s shoulder but the younger man took a step back and held his hand out.

“Please – wait.”

Bond took in Q’s expression. The young man was flushed but his eyes were focused and wary. He grasped Q’s hand. It felt cold and there was a slight tremble to his body. Q was scared – still.

Bond took a step back. He gave a quick short nod. “I thought . . .”

Q followed him, stepping closer. “I do.” Q whispered. “I want this, but not . . .”

“Here – now.”

“No.” Q closed his eyes and rested his forehead against Bond’s. “James, please . . .”

Bond tipped his head up and lightly kissed the corner of Q’s mouth. “I agree. Later, not here. Once we are free.”

Q looked up into Bond’s eyes and saw a softness there he had missed before. He nodded his head and stepped back.

“What is our plan?” Q asked.

“We get out of here.” Bond said simply.

“If we knock out that transformer that could start a cascade effect on their power grid. Knock one out and cause the others to shut down because of the power surge. Just like what happened in America. One transformer exploded and then one by one the rest shut down. Causing the power to go out in the northeastern United States – blacking out New York City and everything up into Canada.” Q whispered. “Then we can get to the helicopter and get out here.”

“Even if we could find a way to take out the transformer, there is no guarantee that it will release the remote control on the helicopter.”

“If we incapacitate the people in the bunker it will.” Q smiled.

“Okay but how?” Bond asked.

Q put his finger to his lips and moved around Bond. He knelt down and opened the cabinet beneath the sink. He removed the few items there then pushed the paneling in the back slightly. The wood paneling between the cabinet and wall moved and fell out. Behind it was an open space where Q had stored several bottles and jars.

He sat down on the floor and carefully pulled everything out from his hiding place. Bond looked at the assorted items. There were four small jars with lids. No more the three inches in diameter. Each jar held another lidded jar inside it. The two jars each had liquid inside them. Bond picked it up and turned it, as he looked at the smaller jar floating in the larger jar.

“What’s this?” He asked.

Q gasped and carefully pulled the jars away from him. He set the jars back on the floor but away from the two of them.

“The smaller jar had ammonia in it. The larger jar has chlorine bleach.” Q whispered as he reached into his pocket and pulled out the bag of jelly babies.

“Chlorine bleach, but if those two liquids mix . . .” Bond’s voice took on a wary tone.

“Yes, chlorine gas. Lethal. If I drop those down the vent pipes leading into the bunker, the two jars will break the bleach and ammonia will mix. I probably won’t actually kill anyone but I will definitely stop them from activating the remote control. They will have to run out of the room or pass out from the gas.”

Bond shook his head as he watched his Quartermaster work.

“You made a banned chemical warfare weapon out of household products. Are you going to tell me that you are going to make a bomb out candy?”

“More of an explosive device instead of a bomb.” Q said. He took Simon Rogers’ salt substitute out of other pocket. “I grabbed this when I was picking up the chess pieces.”

Bond looked confused. “I’m sorry. Have you lost your mind?”

“The sugar from the jelly babies, plus the potassium from the salt substitute along with bleach will make a nice exothermic reaction.”

“Exothermic reaction? Explosive device?”

“Yes. Want to help?”

“Absolutely.”

~Q~

Number Two rose two hours earlier than normal. He had a cup of tea with his buttered toast. After he had dealt with his two disobedient residents, he promised himself a large English breakfast with beans and grilled tomatoes. He spent extra time with his tie, making sure it was perfect before he walked out of his house and down the steps towards Number Six’s bungalow. Positive he would find Bond with the troublesome Quartermaster. He hoped he could encourage their paranoia today. Add to the stress that would surely break the younger man and crush the resistance in the older one.

He walked right up to Q’s door. It swung open promptly. He had the whole speech planned out in his head. He walked in with a broad smile on his face.

“Number Seven you were warned. There will be consequences for . . .”

Number Two stopped in mid-speech. Q was sitting at the table drinking his tea. Fully dressed. A slice of orange mere inches from his lips.

“I’m sorry, what?” Q asked surprised.

“Where is he? Still in bed?”

Number Two marched passed Q and straight to the bedroom. It was empty. He glanced to the open bathroom door. It was open and the room was empty.

“Where is he?” Number Two asked again.

“Who? Bond?”

Number Two smiled. “Number Seven. He was here with you last night. He was seen entering. Were you not entertaining enough to maintain his attention for a full night?”

At any other time, the comment would be hurtful but Q was expecting it.

“I don’t know what you mean. Bond walked me back to my humble abode then left. Weren’t you watching – like always.”

“I saw . . .” Number Two froze. He didn’t want Number Six to know he had become fixated on him. “He was seen here, inside your flat. Where is he?”

“I presume he is in his own place. I don’t know exactly where it is.”

Number Two turned his back on Q and spoke into his wristwatch. “Where is Number Seven at this moment?"

“Isn’t he where you expected him to be?” His nasally assistant’s voice came over the speaker.

“I wouldn’t be asking if he was where he was supposed to be.” Number Two growled.

There was a moment of silence then the assistant announced Number Seven was back in his own bungalow.

“What!? You told me this morning that he wasn’t. When did he get there?” Number Two barked.

“Unclear. The door of his bungalow didn’t record opening and closing at any time in the last twelve hours. But the video feed shows that he is asleep in his own bed. Should we divert his maid from your location to his with his breakfast?”

“Of course divert her, you idiot! And figure out how he got back into his flat without any of us knowing about it.”

Number Two turned around and seemed surprised to see Q watching him. Observing him.

“Trouble?” Q asked with a smirk.

“You should be more careful about who share your free time with, Number Six.” Number Two said having totally forgotten his speech he was going to give after finding Q and Bond ‘in flagrante delicto’. Instead, he was now stumbling over how to drive a wedge between the two.

“I should be more careful? Like avoiding damsels in distress you place in front of me. Like Mairi.”

“Maybe if we had used an attractive male with blond hair and blue eyes?” Number Two said.

“Maybe you would have had better luck. Or maybe it would have been just as successful as your last attempt had been.”

“Remember Number Six, I will have my questions answered. One way or another. And if that means I need to sacrifice one of my residents to get the cooperation of another . . .” He paused as he shook his head regretfully. “I will.”

Q felt a hard twist to his stomach. “Are you threating me, or Bond.”

“Number Six, I don’t make threats. Only predictions.”

He turned and left Q alone with his tea.

Chapter Text

Bond woke alone. He took a moment to assess where he was. His bed, but not his house in Jamaica. It was the flat in the Village. He listened for a moment but there were no unusual sounds. He sat up and stretched. His shoulder hurting more than normal.

Late last night, he had carefully climbed back out of Q’s window. He had strained his shoulder as he lowered himself, one handed, down the side of the building and into the bushes. In his other hand he carefully held a pillowcase with the small jars of chemicals. Q’s miniature ‘gas bombs’ rattled quietly within the cotton sack. If he had dropped the pillowcase, the glass jars would have broken and the chemicals would have mixed. Even standing outside in the fresh air wouldn’t protect him from the poisonous gas.

Bond moved covertly through the Village in the darkness. He hid the jars with ammonia and bleach in the planters behind Number Two house. Hopefully, they wouldn’t be found before they needed them. They were lucky that Q’s bungalow was never thoroughly searched. It would be impossible for the young man to explain what the jars were for, other than terrorism.

Bond made it back to his flat around three in the morning. He carefully climbed back through the bathroom window. A quick shower then he slipped off to bed. He woke up rubbing his sore shoulder and wondering if today would be the day to escape.

The door opened and one of the maids came in with a strained looked on her face. She was carrying a breakfast tray.

“There you are.” She exclaimed when she saw him sitting up in his bed.

“Where else would I be?” He gave her a smug smile.

Her face flushed and for a second it looked like she was about to lose her temper with him. She set the tray of food down rather abruptly. The porcelain cup rattled in its saucer and the orange juice splashed out of its glass.

Bond’s smile broadened as the woman glared down at the tray.

“Your breakfast, sir.” She slurred the last word into an insult.

The maid turned sharply and marched out of the flat. The automatic door closing silently behind her. Bond tossed the blanket off and laughed as he slipped on his robe.

~Q~

Q stood at the window and looked out over the plaza. The ubiquitous marching band was parading around the fountain while playing the Radetzky March. A small cluster of people followed the band, twirling their brightly colored umbrellas over their heads. It looked so happy and harmless as the people marched around with the music. Almost comical if it was for the fact they were in some kind of prison. Captives waiting for the moment when their minds finally snap and succumb to the lunacy of the Village.

Q knew he wasn’t strong enough to keep fighting Number Two. He had almost been tricked by Mairi and 003. He could see himself falling down the same ‘rabbit hole’ like Simon Rogers. He knew he had to escape or soon he would be just like those delusional souls marching around with band.

The door opened and Q quickly turned to see Bond standing in the doorway. The blond glanced at Q then quickly scanned the room for anyone else. When he saw they were alone, Bond came in and walked up to Q.

“Are you ready?” Bond whispered.

Q closed his eyes and rocked slightly on his heels. He nodded his head. “Yes – I, yes, I’m ready.”

He opened his eyes when he felt the brush of Bond’s lips at the corner of his mouth.

“Remember, after we leave here. Once we are free . . .” Bond’s vivid blue eyes bore into Q’s.

Q gave a weak smiled but nodded his head again. Bond reached out and grabbed Q’s hand

“The helicopter left early this morning. I’m expecting it back soon.” Bond said softly.

“Okay. I’m ready.” Q said as he squeezed Bond’s hand. “See you on the other side?”

“Absolutely.”

Bond removed the screwdriver he had stolen from one of the workmen months earlier. Q glanced at it in surprise.

“You didn’t tell me you had that.”

“You’re not the only person I liberate things from, Q.” Bond winked.

Q went into the kitchen opened a drawer. He took out a simple grip-seal bag. He emptied the paper sack of jelly babies into it and then poured in most of the potassium chloride. Bond watched him unsure if it was safe given what Q had said he was making.

“Should you be doing that in here?” he asked.

“It will be safe until I add the bleach. Then it will take only a few seconds before an exothermic reaction occurs and we have an explosion.”

“How big?” Bond asked looking skeptical at the bag of candy dusted with the fake salt.

“Big enough. We don’t need a fireball and collateral damage every time, Mister Bond.” Q glared.

Bond smiled at the younger man. “But it is always so much more enjoyable when we have one.”

He grabbed Q by his elbow and pulled him to the door.

“Remember to wait five minutes after the helicopter lands. That will give enough time for the secure team to escort who ever has arrived. There will be probably only one or two guards standing by helicopter. I will take care of them. We need to blow up the transformer the same time I drop the glass jars.”

Q nodded his head. “I understand.”

“See you at the helicopter soon.” Bond leaned in and kissed Q.

Q, still so nervous about what they were about to do, he didn’t return the kiss. He stood motionless as he tried to fix his attention on Bond.

“James . . .” Q started.

Bond looked at the young man carefully. He could see the apprehension and fear in Q’s face. “It’s going to be all right. I’ll get us out of here. We’ll both get us out of here. I had just about given up when you showed up. I was ready to . . . it doesn’t matter what I was ready to do. But now – together, we will escape. And then come back here to burn this place down to the ground.”

Q blinked his eyes. “You promise?”

“I promise.”

~Q~

Q was already standing behind the fake boulder when he heard the rumble of the helicopter. He glanced up and saw the aircraft coming over the forest and swinging out over the water before it made its approach to land. Q’s hands were sweating. It seemed unreasonable for them to be doing so. He had handled explosives before. This wasn’t the first time he had made an improvised device. But this was the most important device he had ever made. This was the one that would get him back to London. Both himself and Bond. It needed to work perfectly.

~Q~

Bond was in the garden alone. He had circled the perimeter twice before he heard the approach of the helicopter. He had chosen to drop the glass jars down two different airshafts. That way he would have better coverage of the poisonous gas once the chemicals had mixed.

He looked out and saw the helicopter circle over the water and start to land. He started counting in his head as he loosened the cover off the first air vent. He needed to get to three hundred before he dropped the first jars. Then he would have to run down the hill, through the village and onto the lawn. Hopefully by then, Q would be there at the helicopter too.

If this attempt failed, Number Two would see that neither one of them would ever see each other again. He would lose Q and his last chance of getting out of the Village.

Bond had counted to two hundred and forty. He quickly reached into the planter – pushing the peony aside. He easily pried the cover off the vent. Mentally he reached three hundred and dropped the first two jars of chemicals. He rushed to the second planter and repeated the process. A minute later he was running towards the beach.

~Q~

Q saw the helicopter land. He started counting, as he pressed the release. A small door opened up in the side of the stone. The seams were hidden in the creases and crevices of the fake rock. Behind the door was a transformer router. Q quickly glanced over it and decided on the best place to put his small bomb. He poured the bleach in the bag with the candy and the fake salt. He partially sealed it and wedged it between the breakers.

Q closed the door of the fake rock and rushed around to the other side. He caught a whiff of bleach before he heard the explosion. It wasn’t terribly loud, but he was certain if was powerful enough to damage the transformer causing a cascade effect through the system.

Suddenly, streetlights started to flicker and spark. Several popped and exploded in their housings. Smoke started to come out of several buildings as the power surge blew out breaker and short-circuited the entire system.

Q took off running. He needed to get to the helicopter. As he rounded the corner of the Elderly Home, he saw three guards rushing towards the helicopter. Bond was fighting with the guard posted beside the aircraft and pilot was getting out to help the guard. Soon it would be five against one because Q knew he was in no physical shape to take on one of the guards. He wouldn’t be able to help Bond at all.

Suddenly there was a scream. Q twisted to see people rushing out of the path of one of small trollies. The small cart was crashing into the chairs and tables that were placed out on the lawn. The trolly caught one chair under its front wheel and dragged it for several feet – digging a gouge into the turf.

Q looked to see Simon Rogers’ behind the wheel of the trolly. He was smiling broadly as he aimed the cart right at the three guards. The guards blew a whistle and ordered Rogers to stop. But Rogers continued to drive straight at them. They had to duck out of the way as the trolly swerved into one of them. A woman screamed as the trolly rolled over the guard. Rogers laughed as he was bounced in the trolly.

The guards started shouting and chasing after Rogers. Q watched stunned as he heard Rogers start to sing.

“Think of your fellow man – lend him a helping hand – put a little love in your heart.”  

Rogers swerved the trolly at the guards again. The men jumped to the side as Rogers drove across the lawn and back towards the Elderly Home. The crowd of spectators scattered as Rogers aimed at them. Tables and chairs were tipped over as people tried to flee from the trolly.

“You see it's getting late – oh, please don't hesitate – put a little love in your heart. And the world will be a better place. And the world will be a better place.

“Q!” Bond shouted.

Q glanced over and saw the man had knocked out both the pilot and the guard. Q ran across the lawn as Bond was getting in the pilot’s seat. Q twisted in the open door of the helicopter to watch as Rogers droved the trolly right into one of the guards. The man went flying off to the side as Roger continued to sing.

“If you want the world to know – we won't let hatred grow – put a little love in your heart.”

Bond started the engine and rotors began to spin. Q watched Rogers turn the trolley back towards them. Rogers was weaving it back and forth – both trying to evade and also hit the guards chasing him.

“Rogers . . .” Q waved his hand. “Over here!”

The engine whined and the helicopter started to lift off. Rogers steered the trolley right up to the helicopter. He jumped out and threw himself at the open door. Q grabbed at the man’s coat. He tried desperately to hold onto Rogers as Bond pulled the helicopter up off the ground. Rogers kicked at the air and struggled to pull himself in. Q held onto him, helping the elderly man onto the aircraft.

Rogers collapse into Q’s arms on the floor of the backseat. The door was still open and the air rushed through the cabin, forcing the men to shout.

“We did it!” Rogers said. He was gasping and sweating profusely.

Q laughed. “We did!”

The helicopter flew quickly out over the water. Bond watched the gages as the helicopter reached the point where the control was taken away from him before. It would be a few minutes until they reached the outer limits of the radio controls. He held his breath as he approached the final marker. The helicopter kept flying. It was past the point where the remote control could pull them back.

“We’re clear!” Bond shouted.

Q reached over and patted Rogers on the shoulder, the older man didn’t move. Q looked down at the man. Rogers’ face was pale and sweat soaked. His lips were turning blue. Q shook the man, but Rogers didn’t move. Q placed his fingers on the pulse point in Rogers neck. It was still.

“Bond!” Q shouted over the wind.

Bond glanced back and saw the dead man resting in Q’s arms. He reached back and felt the cooling skin of the former agent. The relief of escape drained from his body. They were free. All of them. But not as it had been planned.

~Q~

Number Two stood on the seawall watching as the helicopter disappeared over the horizon. His red face was covered with a sheen of sweat. Anger brewed deep with in him. Five people were dead in the bunker. There was no telling how long it would take to restore the power throughout the Village. The guard that Rogers had run over with the trolly had a broken leg that would require surgery. And the other residence of the Village were now agitated enough that there was going to be trouble.

He gritted his teeth and swore bitterly. If he ever had that skinny little twerp in his control again he was going to break him regardless of what his orders were. And Number Seven would be terminated.

In anger, he slammed his walking stick down on to the concrete wall, bending the tip. He glared down at it. That was something else he would blame on Number Six and Number Seven.

He turned and saw his assistant walking towards him. The ever-present scowl on the man’s face. Number Two’s gut twisted at how much he loathed his assistant.

“It is for you.” The assistant held out a mobile phone towards Number Two.

“I’m busy. Tell who ever it is to call back later.” Growled Number Two.

“You will need to answer this one.”

“I don’t need to do anything you tell me to do.” Number Two tried to think of ways he could slow and painfully rid himself of this man.

“It is Number One.” The assistant said.

Number Two paled. “Who notified him?”

“I did.” The assistant finally smiled.

Chapter Text

Gareth Mallory walked into his dark townhouse. He was shattered. It had been a trying ten days and he knew the coming months were going to be just as exhausting.

The Queen was dead.

The funeral became a security nightmare of the century. More world leaders gathered together for this one event that for any other time in history. Every important member of the British government was there too. Over three thousand security officers watched the crowds and the guests. Every member of MI5 and MI6 as well of every police officer guarded the funeral and the processional. The amount of stress placed on Mallory’s shoulders was horrendous.

“Brian?” He called out to his personal assistant as he turned on the lights. It was late but he didn’t like  walking into a dark house. Brian should have at least been up and the lights on in the foyer.

The house was silent and Mallory thought the young man had given up and probably gone off to bed. It was late. Half past three in the morning. Mallory couldn’t even remember sleeping in his own bed for the last ten days, but he must have. He was shattered.

He had attended the funeral. Dressed in his black wool suit with his military metals pinned to his chest. He had said goodbye to the dear old lady like everyone else in Westminster. It had been somber and respectful but also very difficult day.

Mallory sighed and walked into his library. He walked up to the cabinet and opened the doors. The mini spot shimmered down on the cut crystal decanter. He grabbed a tumbler and poured himself a healthy amount of Middleton Very Rare. An Irish whiskey. A taste he acquired while stationed in Belfast. He took a long sip – his eyes closed as he savored the peaty favor of the liquor.

“Sir.”

Mallory nearly dropped the tumbler. He spun quickly to see a man hidden the shadows. He was sitting comfortably behind Mallory’s personal desk in the room. The man leaned forward and turned on the desk lamp. It was Craig Norman.

“What the bloody hell are you doing here, 003?” Mallory snapped at him as he returned his attention back to his drink.

“I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t mean to startle you. Your assistant said it would be fine. He went off to bed hours ago.”

Mallory nodded his head and took another swig of whiskey. He lifted the glass to Norman in an unspoken question. Mallory never liked Norman. He was too smug. The agent had been forced upon Mallory and MI6 by the Foreign Office. Mallory always thought the young man was sent to report back to handlers about what MI6 was up to and specifically him.

“No thank you, M.” Norman stood and walked around the desk.

“Why are you here? What is it?” Mallory asked as he turned his back on Norman and poured himself some more Irish whiskey.

“There was a report about trouble in the Village.” Norman said as he moved silently towards Mallory.

“The Village. Who told you about . . .”

The gun shot wasn’t loud at all. It was more like a hand clap. A snap.

Mallory dropped his glass. The brown liquid stained the carpet as the tumbler bounced on the thick rug. Mallory turned quickly to see the shadow move out from behind the alcove of the room. The person holding gun with the silencer moved closer to Mallory and over the dead body of Craig Norman.

The light from the desk finally reached the shooter’s face. Mallory gasped and grabbed the cabinet door to steady himself.

“You can’t be . . .” He whispered. “You’re dead.”

“Not yet,” said James Bond.

Q moved out from around Bond and into the room. Mallory saw Q and then he did collapse to the floor. His hand reached up and yanked at the knot of his tie. He gasped for air.

“This can’t . . . I saw the body . . . no . . .” Mallory paled as everything tilted sideways.

Q rushed forward and grabbed Mallory’s shoulders before the man collapsed all together. Mallory yanked his tie open and tore at the buttons of his shirt.

“We’re both not dead yet and neither are you.” Q said.

“I don’t understand.” Mallory said as he stared bewildered up at Q. “Your flat. The body. It was positively identified as you.”

He turned and looked at Bond. “And you – the missiles. How did you survive?”

“I’d say training but it was nothing more that dumb luck.” Bond said as he kicked at Norman’s wrist. A hypodermic needle fell out of his hand. “I’d say for both of us.”

Mallory stared unbelieving at the needle as it laid on the carpet. “Was that for me?”

“Yes,” Q said. “They were coming for you?”

“Who?”

“You know who.” Bond growled. He aimed his gun at Mallory.

Q glanced up then turned to block Bond’s shot. “James, what are you doing?”

“He knew.” Bond said. A deadly tone to his voice.

“What?” Q glanced back at Mallory. “You knew!? You sent us there?”

“Where?” Mallory asked still terribly confused.

“The Village. You sent us to the Village?” Q nearly shouted.

“No, never.” Mallory blinked. Then he slowly tried to stand. “Why would I send you there?”

“But you know about the Village?” Q asked as he backed up to stand beside Bond, who kept the barrel of his gun pointed at M.

“Of course I know. It’s where people who are no longer a threat to national security but still too dangerous to be allowed to wander around on their own. But no one has been sent there for years. Decades. I’ve never sent anyone and neither did Olivia Mansford. As far as I know the place was closed.”

The name of the previous M sparked through Bond’s consciousness. He tightened his grip on his gun. He wondered if it was true. M could be a bitch but would she send someone to the Village for psychological torture.

Mallory turned back to the cabinet and poured himself a second glass of Irish whiskey. His hands shook as the decanter clinked against the glass.

“You knew about the place but never sent anyone there?” Q asked.

“Never.”

“Not even a double ‘O’ agent who develop a drug addiction?” Q asked.

Mallory turned and looked at Q. There was a flicker of realization behind his grey-blue eyes.

“No.” He said before he took drink. “Now how do you know about the Village?”

Some of Mallory’s bravado had returned. He straightened his shoulders and tipped his chin forward.

“We were put there.” Bond said.

“Impossible. I never gave any orders.”

Q’s mind began to spin. “Who is Number One?”

“Who?” Mallory asked.

“Number Two ran the place. He over saw the interrogation.” Q said.

“What interrogations? No one was interrogated. It was a . . . I don’t know how to explain it other that a rest home.” Mallory sputtered.

“When was the last time you visited it?” Bond sneered.

“I’ve never been . . .” Suddenly realization hit Mallory. “Someone has taken it over.”

“Someone who can manipulate procedures and put a mole within MI6 with Double ‘O’ status.”

Mallory stared down at the Norman’s dead body. His fist tightened on the glass in his hand. He had been right about the man. He was a mole. But for who.

He looked up at Bond and Q with a sternness that came with experience. “Report.”

Q’s shoulders actually relaxed as Bond lowered his gun.

“A year ago, I was captured.” Bond started.

“A year ago. We thought we had killed you fifteen months ago.” Mallory said.

“I was in treatment to rid myself of Heracles.”

Mallory nodded his head. He wasn’t sure how Bond had done that but finding out how was of minor concern now. Bond continued.

“I was captured and taken to the Village. I was tortured both physically and psychologically for a year. Then Q arrived.”

Mallory turned and looked at Q.

“I was black bagged the day I turned in my resignation. I woke up in the Village. Some of the contents of the flat had been transported there.”

“Were you also tortured?”

Q blushed slightly. “Not physically but they did try to trick me. Tried deceptions to get information out of me.”

“What information?” Mallory asked.

“Everything. My name. What I did at Six. But mostly, Number Two was interested in Project Heracles.” Q said. “They wanted to know about how it worked.”

“But you didn’t know anything about it.”

“No,” Q continued. “I didn’t but you did.”

“That is why he is here.” Mallory pointed to the dead man.

“We followed him here. He killed your assistant, Brian. He didn’t know we broke into the house after he entered. We’ve been hiding waiting for you to return to see what he would do.” Q said.

“Waiting to see if I knew the two of you were still alive?” Mallory said.

“Maybe.” Bond said carefully.

“I’m in the dark about this as much as you.” Mallory said. “I thought the Village was closed and Project Heracles was shelved and no one would ask about it again.”

“Someone is asking. And asking very specific question. But it obvious that is someone who was not personally involved with it. They thought I invented it.” Q said.

“And Bond?” Mallory asked.

“They knew I had been exposed. They were surprised I had rid myself of the little bug. They wanted to know how?”

“How did you?” Mallory asked.

“The Japanese secret service had been working with nanobots and genetic engineering. They found it to be a dead end too but they also found a cure. It’s simple if you don’t mind being irritated and drained of all of your blood daily for three months.”

Mallory didn’t even wince at the description but Q paled.

“And someone has taken over the Village for their own purposes? Who did you see there?” asked Mallory.

“Mostly British and Americans, but there were French, Russian, and other nationalities.” Bond said.

“Simon Rogers was there.” Q said quietly.

“He was retired there over thirty years ago. He was reported dead before Mansfield took over as M.” Mallory said.

“He was alive until yesterday.” Q said. “Died trying to help us escape.”

Mallory’s eyes flickered back and forth between the two men.

“When?”

“Yesterday.” Bond said. “Imagine our surprise when we learned that the top-secret political prison was in Wales. We flew a helicopter out there yesterday and made it into London today.”

“I haven’t heard a word about it. I didn’t know that the two of you were even alive.” Mallory said.

Q began to shake a little. “You mentioned a body. You saw a body.”

Mallory turned and poured a second glass of liquor. He handed it to Q.

“Your building was burned down. A body was found in the wreckage of your flat. Male. DNA said it was you.” Mallory said.

Q took a quick drink of whiskey.

“That’s impossible.” Bond said.

“Only if you believe the DNA database hasn’t been compromised. Records haven’t been altered.”

Hesitantly, Q had to ask. “My cats?”

“Cats?” Mallory looked back at Q confused. “I don’t . . . no one said anything about cats. If there were in the flat, they are probably dead.”

Q seemed to deflate. After everything. After fighting to escape. The threats from Number Two and the deception from Mairi, it seemed petty and ridiculous that the death of Q’s two cats might be the tipping point and cause Q to completely fall apart.

Bond stepped forward and wrapped his left hand over Q’s forearm. Granting the young man a moment of shared strength.

“It will be one more reason.” He whispered.

Bond remembered how important Q’s ridiculous cats were to him. He knew Q needed the emotional attachment of the animals to do his job. But now he needed Q to be his Quartermaster. The younger man stiffened his back and nodded.

“What do we do next?” Bond said to Mallory.

“We find out who has hijacked the Village and stop them. I’ll call Tanner now.” Mallory said.

Q waved his hand. “Wait, we need to be careful. Whom ever this is, they have eyes and ears within MI6. We need to move carefully without tipping our hand.”

“Recommendations, Quartermaster?” Mallory asked.

“If there is another mole inside MI6 we need to isolate them. But we need to work fast. I trust Tanner, but who else can we trust?”

Mallory thought for a moment. “I know someone who is completely on the outside of Secret Service but can help us.”

“Who is he?” Bond asked.

“General Matthew Wainwright. We served together, HQ Northern Ireland. He was in the Royal Sussex. He is presently stationed in Wales. He can raid the Village and detain everyone there until we have control over the situation.”

“Doesn’t he have to report to Military Command?” Q asked.

“Not if he orders it as a training exercise for urban population control.” Bond smiled.

“Exactly. The Village – regardless of how secretive it was – is still a governmental instillation available for military training as needed.”

“When can he get there?” Q asked.

“Twenty-four hours.” Mallory said as he looked at his watch.

He set his drink down and pulled his mobile out of his pocket. It was late and he positive Wainwright would be asleep, but the two men had shared a lot together in Ireland. And regardless of the time of day or night, either one would be there for the other if asked.

Mallory scrolled through the list of contacts as Q glanced over at Bond.

“What about us?” Q asked.

“I want to go back in there with them.” Bond demanded.

Q paled for a moment then nodded his head. “We both should go back. If for no other reason but to identify Number Two and the others.”

Mallory looked up at the two men. “Neither one of you is going. You are needed here. First debrief with Tanner.”

“We need to go back and finish this.” Q said.

He could feel Bond eagerness beside him. He knew that Bond would ignore Mallory and somehow find a way to go with the soldiers back to the Village.

Mallory was about to argue with him when the phone was answered. “Matthew, it’s Gareth. I need you.”

Mallory spoke quickly and answered several questions with single syllable answers. He gave the location of the Village. He glance up at Q and Bond.

“There will be two – members of my staff” He hesitated. “Accompanying you. It must appear on paper to be a training exercise but this is an infiltration and capture.”

Q watched as Mallory’s jaw flexed as he clinched it.

“I don’t know, but it could be dangerous politically for everyone.” Mallory said to the man on the other end of the phone. He paused, then nodded his head. “Thank you, Matthew. I knew I could trust you.”

He disconnected the call and slipped the phone into his pocket.

“You will be taken to Castlemartin before dawn. General Wainwright will be taking in a unit of SAS into the Village. It is being staged as a live training detail but he has been told that there will be resistance and non-lethal force is permitted.

~Q~

The helicopters came into the Village just at dawn. They flew low over the countryside avoiding any type of radar. Several Zodiac speed boats sped across the water and landed at the sea wall at the same time the helicopters came over the hilltop. It was a well-coordinated infiltration and landing at a colorful collection of buildings.

The soldiers moved stealthily through the narrow streets just as the sun topped over the distant hills. Bond and Q, dressed in combat fatigues and army boots, kept close to the General as they came onto the lawn behind the seawall. The three-story tall building that had been the ‘Elderly Home’ was just to their left. The small tables and chairs were scattered in front of it but the sign was missing.

Suddenly a scream and shouts made every one of the soldiers turn and look at a man and woman dressed in swimsuits and terrycloth robes. They had come out of the building. The woman continued to scream as the man raised his hands in the air, surrendering.

“We were just going for a swim!” The man shouted as he fell to knees.

Doors and windows opened up around them and people came out to see what has happening. The soldiers suddenly found themselves surrounded by civilians dressed in their pajamas.

“Secure the area. Detain those people for questioning.” General Wainwright shouted.

The soldiers took off in various directions. The cacophony of shouts and screams carried across the village as the soldiers kicked in doors and chased people down. People in pajamas and nightgowns were marched, with their hands raised, into the plaza.

Q glanced at Bond. Both men sensing something was off. The people were dressed in normal clothes. There weren’t the brightly colored outfits of the villagers. There wasn’t the sound of a band playing marching music. The signs giving directions to the various buildings were gone. There were no guards in black uniforms.

Within an hour, everyone had been pulled from the buildings and stood in mass in the plaza. Most of the people appeared to be dressed in pajamas and nightgowns. Some were dressed as maids in navy blue scrubs. There were three men dressed in red bell boy uniforms.

General Wainwright was speaking to a short plump man with a bald pate. This pale scalp was shining in the morning sun with sweat. The short man, dressed in a plain black suit, was waving his hands about animatedly and seemed to almost be in tears. The general finally waved the man away. He looked up and glared at Bond and Q. He walked to them with a storm brewing behind his expression.

“Is this Mallory’s idea of a fucking joke, Mister Bond?” Wainwright growled.

“I don’t know what you are talking about.” Bond said through clinched teeth.

“An enemy installation on British soil?” Wainwright hissed. “It’s a fucking holiday camp.”

“These aren’t the people who were here three days ago.” Q said quickly.

“That poncy punter said this place has been a hotel and holiday camp for ten years. I’ve got half a dozen people already trying to contact their solicitors and another dozen wanting to know who they need to complain to for ruining their holiday.”

A corporal ran up to the general and gave him a quick salute. “Sir, the area has been secured and no hostiles have been seen. We’ve checked everyone’s ID’s and they check out. Nothing seems to be amiss.”

General Wainwright growled. “Alright, allow them to return to their rooms. This is going to be a bloody mess when the press finds out. British Army invades a holiday camp.”

He turned back to Bond and Q. “I suggest the two of you get the hell out of my line of sight.”

Bond’s face went neutral and unreadable. As cold and unfeeling as stone. Q touched his arm and leaned in.

“Let’s report back to Mallory. They couldn’t have done this without being picked up on CCTV or satellites. I’ll check the surveillance on this site for the past seventy-two hours. We’ll find them and track them. Don’t worry.” Q said softly.

Bond glared at General Wainwright for several more heartbeats then turned to Q. “Alright.”

He and Q walked back down the hill towards the water. When they reached the seawall, Bond jumped down and went to the Zodiacs.

Q turned and looked back at the Village. Everything he had endured in the few months he had been there came back to him. Number Two and Mairi. The marching band and the parades. Simon Rogers. The insanity and fear. None of it seemed real now as he looked back at the buildings. As if it had been some kind of nightmare but it was real. It had to be real. Bond had been there. He had been a prisoner too.

Q looked back at the building that had been the ‘Elderly Home’ with its white tables and chairs in front of it. He looked where he had first met Rogers. And where he had played chess with the man. He could almost hear the man’s voice – his condescending laugh.

Q noticed a newspaper laying on one of the tables. He thought it was odd. He had never seen a paper when he was in the Village. He never noticed one before. He went over and looked at it. On the front page were more articles about the Queen’s funeral. He turned it over and looked at the lower half of the front page. A photograph of Gareth Mallory caught his attention. It was a professional portrait photograph of the man. Q looked at the headline accompanying the photograph. He suddenly felt sick.

He dashed down the lawn to the seawall and jumped over it. He ran down the dock with newspaper gripped in his hand.

“Bond!” Q gasped when he reached the man.

Q held the paper out for Bond to see.

“Head of MI6 Killed in Car Crash”

Bond grabbed the paper out of Q’s hand and read the article.

“Gareth Mallory, CBE, was killed in a motor vehicle accident in the early evening. The car he was riding in was the only car involved in the accident. Witness state the car swerved on the wet tarmac and crashed into the bridge railing before plummeting into the Thames.”

“They killed him.” Q gasped.

“Did they?”

“You think they kidnapped him too? He could be alive in another place like this one?”

“I think it is probably more likely than not.” Bond said.

Bond looked up to see the corporal running down the seawall to them. The young man was waving his hands.

“The General said you need to leave immediately. The press has been called and they are already on the way here.”

Bond took Q by the elbow and pushed into the rubber Zodiac. “We are gone.”

Bond climbed into the boat and started the engines. The boat slowly pulled back from the dock and into the water.

The corporal smiled and moved back from the edge of the dock. He lifted his right hand up and encircled his thumb and forefinger together.

“Be seeing you.” The young man said as he gave the salute.

Bond pushed the throttle forward and turned the wheel sharply. The boat spun in the water and lurched forward. Away from the Village and the those in it.