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For someone as smart and naturally curious as Q, it wasn’t surprising that he had dealt with many problems in his life. These problems came in all shapes and sizes.
Some were bigger, and some were smaller: he’d been to jail before, and he also ran out of his good tea at work just the other day (the bigger problem of the two was not going to jail).
Some were quickly dealt with, while others lingered for a while before being resolved: it was easy to leave a spare fork in his desk drawer so he could snack without getting his fingers and therefore his keyboard sticky, while it had taken him months to figure out how to bulletproof the Q-Branch cars to a satisfactory level.
There was one problem that fell into the area where ‘small’ and ‘lingering’ crossed over, and it was this: he had always looked young for his age.
Admittedly, this was not helped by the fact that Q had spent the majority of his life around people much older than him (such were the joys of being intellectually gifted). But years of hiding away inside with his computer had done wonders for his skin, and combined with his small stature and slight figure, it really drove the point home.
This problem had no easy fix. Glasses and a preference for jumpers that looked like they came right out of some grandfather’s wardrobe could only do so much. It was a little annoying to be constantly underestimated, but Q made it work. He had to.
An explosion, a promotion and many sleepless nights later, Q found himself the Quartermaster. He also found that his small and lingering problem became a large and lingering problem.
Now, he had to regularly fight to get himself heard and taken seriously. Stuffy old politicians who thought they knew better than him simply because they looked like a wrinkled tissue, and he didn’t. He was the bloody Quartermaster. He’d been employed to make equipment and manage the agents. He knew what he was doing.
The field agents, surprisingly, were some of the most accepting. They had all had a moment when they first met, of course, the predictable how old even are you? But after Q had saved their lives once or twice, they realised that his youth didn’t mean a lack of talent.
However, Q had also found himself becoming acquainted with a certain James Bond.
After the disaster that was Skyfall and Silva and M, Q had thought perhaps they’d moved past the age jokes. Especially as Bond had trusted Q to help, even though they’d only met not two weeks earlier.
But oh, how mistaken he was.
Bond was relentless.
To give the man some credit, not all of his jokes were age-related. Although he lost that credit almost immediately, as when he did come up with age jokes, they were very repetitive. He seemed stuck on hounding Q’s complexion, teasing him about still having a bedtime, and wondering whether or not Q was old enough for whatever activity Bond was up to on his current mission.
It made Q want to tear his hair out in annoyance. But he also couldn’t stand to let someone else have the last word, not when he knew he could do better. So Q found himself dipping into his own extensive repertoire of ways to subtly call someone old, carefully honed from his years at university.
Such was the way things continued, until Q overheard some of his employees in the break room. Q wasn’t one for gossiping, but they’d all just had a hard day, with three separate double-oh missions all requiring monitoring and guidance. He deserved to do a bit of eavesdropping as a reward.
“…it’s like we’re not even there…”
“…may as well just not bother to link up with them…”
Q smiled wryly at their complaints. It was a well-known and oft-despaired fact that the double-ohs rarely listened to their handlers. Although, their behaviour did seem to be improving now that Q was in charge.
(He’d been a humble tech himself once, and frankly was more appalled over the poor quality of the handlers and information than the agents’ disobedience. Q was therefore rather proud to see a change in this particular area).
But his smile turned into something more thoughtful at their next words.
“I agree. Wasting our time. At least it wasn’t 007.”
“God, that’s true. I suppose Agent Carr is nothing by comparison.”
That didn’t sound right to Q. Sure, all of the agents were a bit irritating and headstrong in the field, but he’d run missions with Bond plenty of times, and 007 was far from the worst.
That’s when he put two and two together.
Q was a logical man. He could only think of one logical explanation for being the only one treated to a much more amenable Bond: he trusted Q (or at least liked him) more than the other handlers.
Which could only mean that Bond wasn’t serious in his taunts. He must be enjoying their banter. Q felt relieved by the revelation. He had no problem with a bit of verbal sparring, after all.
It was only after Q passingly noticed that the next year was a leap year, did he realise that their little game might be one he would not win.
He and Bond had slowly become better friends. Bond had turned into James (only when he was off mission), Q would talk about his cats, and James would bring Q small souvenirs from whatever exotic country he found himself in that week. It was actually rather nice.
Apart from one small caveat. Q wouldn’t claim to be an expert on friendships, but there were certain topics he thought were sure to pop up fairly soon after forming such an acquaintance. One of which was birthdays. And Q had a few reasons why he couldn’t have that.
Of course, that meant the topic came up sooner than Q hoped.
It was on the day of one of Q’s minion’s own birthday, actually. He’d exchanged shifts with a small group of them so they could all go out to celebrate one evening. “Thanks again, Q!” the birthday minion called out just as James came sauntering in the room.
The older man cocked an eyebrow. “What’s all that about?”
“Oh, Thompson’s birthday is today. I agreed to stay a little later so she and the others could finish early.”
“Very magnanimous.”
Q glanced up from his work at that. He would let James tease him, but not his minions. “They’re hard workers, Bond. Don’t begrudge them a break now and then, thank you.”
James blinked. “I am capable of being sincere sometimes, Quartermaster. I am aware that your staff work hard. They deserve a break. It is good of you to let them celebrate.”
“Oh.” That was a… surprisingly thoughtful thing for James to say.
Before Q could come up with anything more intelligent to say, James powered on. From the grin on his face, Q knew it wouldn’t be something he would like to hear.
“Say,” he drawled. “What about your birthday, Q? When is it? Of course, I just need the day and month. I’ve narrowed down the year to 2009-”
“2009? If you think that was when I was born, you really must be going senile in your old age,” Q said quickly. He needed to stop this conversation as soon as possible. “Now, James, I really do have work to do-”
“Is it an embarrassing date?” James interrupted. “Something like May the Fourth, I suppose. Are you afraid you’ll never beat the nerd allegations if everyone finds out?”
An alarm sounded. It was an alert for a mission, 003’s, a basic information retrieval. Q grabbed the opportunity with both hands (although he filed away the fact that James knew what Star Wars Day was… James Bondbeing a nerd was something that needed revisiting later).
“Sorry, James, this is important. I need total silence to concentrate. Feel free to leave now.”
“That’s 003’s mission, right? He’s just gathering intel. You hardly need to concentrate for that,” he replied, sounding bemused. But he did dutifully take his leave, and Q heaved a sigh of relief.
He really should have known that lying would only make James more determined to find out what Q was hiding.
And, as previously stated, James was relentless. He didn’t bring the topic back up in conversation, these things had a way of working their way out.
James tried the minions first. But they were harder to scare than they looked, and they were loyal to Q first and foremost. So, they reported James’ less-than-subtle attempts to sniff out Q’s birthday with gusto, and relayed, quite happily, that each of them had given him a different date.
James then moved right on to the big guns. Moneypenny reported his multiple attempts to sweet-talk it out of herself, M and Tanner.
“For a spy, he really isn’t very good at intelligence-gathering,” she said. “Why does he want to know your birthday, anyway?”
“Oh, no reason.”
Her eyes narrowed. “What are you playing at?”
“Really, it’s nothing. Don’t worry about it. Here, M’s been after these all week. Thank you!”
He passed on a stack of papers to Moneypenny, ushering her out.
The final attempts were to find Q’s own employee records directly. James certainly was persistent, Q had to give him that, after receiving ten notifications in a row that someone was trying to hack into his online file.
Q didn’t panic; not only did he create the security around the file, he had also written up the file upon his promotion to Quartermaster. Any personal information, such as a birthdate, had been conveniently left out.
After that defeat, it seemed James had run out of ideas. Q privately gloated, but refrained from doing so in James’ vicinity. He didn’t want to provide any incentive to launch a second attack.
But Q really should have known that this was one game he wouldn’t win.
The whole Silva incident had taken months to recover from. Q had worked flat out to rebuild Q-Branch and repair the damage to MI6’s systems, on top of keeping missions running smoothly as usual.
Now that things were more or less back to normal, and the biggest issues were fixed, what remained were the boring and dreary tasks.
One such task was sorting through the employee files that were still on paper. There was a frankly intimidating stack of files, all of the highest confidentiality, meaning that only those with the highest clearance could view them (Q found himself included in that small group with M, Tanner and Moneypenny, much to his irritation). So they had to be the ones to sort through them all, check them, and upload the scans. For every file.
The sheer number of errors and the layers of dust caked to each one demonstrated just how long it had been since they were last opened.
Initially, the group had started out with hopes of finishing the stack by the end of the day. A quick glance through the file, then it could be placed into its respective pile (Digitise Later, Not Our Problem, and Throw Out). They were making good headway.
But after finding the file of a politician who’d not only never had anything to do with MI6, but had also resigned from his position seven years ago, they had to slow down and actually read through each file to make sure it was relevant.
It was awfully dull work.
They’d just reached the four-hour mark when Q’s fantasies about some urgent crisis calling him down to Q-Branch were interrupted by James breaking into M’s office.
It really shouldn’t have come as a surprise; the man seemed to have a sixth sense for when confidential business was happening, and an equally strong need to stick his nose into that business.
It went to show just how over the whole thing M was that he didn’t even berate James, instead ordering him to help.
“I wouldn’t be surprised to hear you’ve already broken in and looked over these files anyway. Always where you shouldn’t be. Christ,” M muttered, taking in James’ unashamed posture. “May as well put you to use before you go off wreaking havoc while we’re not available to keep an eye on you.”
To Q’s surprise, James was actually rather helpful, although he made no effort to hide that he was memorising as much of the confidential records as possible. Q rolled his eyes at that. M was right, if James wanted to, he’d get into them at some point, anyway.
Another hour later, and all of them were seriously in danger of losing their minds.
While they were still taking care to read through each file properly, they’d given up on any other precautions. Initially, they’d made sure not to vocalise information that could be dangerous in the hands of others, preferring to pass files around to be read.
Now, they’d agreed by unspoken consent that if any enemies to the crown were still listening in, they deserved the information (not only had they managed to get a bug into one of the most protected offices in England, but they’d also sat through hours of mind-numbing sorting).
Q watched as Tanner frowned at an innocuous-looking file, before tossing it over to M.
“What do you make of this?” he asked, already reaching for another. “Don’t remember anyone with that name working here.”
M read out the name, squinting down at the sheafs of paper. Eve and James shook their heads too; but the name pulled at Q. It did sound a little familiar.
But M was continuing before he could speak. “It’s really only the bare bones of a file, as well. Cambridge educated, it seems. First employed almost four years ago. Hm, that’s unusual. Recruited straight into Q-Branch.”
Oh, Q thought. That’s why it sounds familiar. His very first employment record; hastily created so he could begin working as soon as possible.
Then his eyes widened in realisation, as M flipped back to the first page of the thin file. There was one more bit of information on that first file (the only file to contain that specific thing). Q opened his mouth, to cut M off, but the man was already speaking-
“-birthdate is 29th February,” M finished. “Still nothing?”
God. He’d have to say something. Such a vague file was suspicious, it would have to be investigated straight away. And things would get difficult as soon as they connected Q to the file.
Shit.
He needed to say something.
“It’s mine,” Q blurted out. Everyone turned to look at him.
“Yours?” M repeated. “From when? I thought I’d already seen all your files.”
“It’s from when I started working here,” he reluctantly explained. “I only used that name for two or three weeks before it changed to a different cover, that’s why I didn’t recognise it. I thought the file had been destroyed.”
He hesitated, knowing he had to say this next bit but wishing all the same that he didn’t. “Other than the name, all the information is correct.”
Moneypenny’s eyes were bright; it was easily the most backstory she’d heard about Q. So much for his sense of mystery. Tanner looked like he was trying to remember that short-lived file, while M just looked relieved that there would be one less thing to investigate.
But Q paid them no mind, because he could just about see the dots connecting in James’ brain. The world seemed to narrow down to just them. Q watched with horror as James’ grin grew so big it split his face in half.
Q couldn’t. He couldn’t do this here. Not in front of his boss. “Bond, don’t-”
“You’re not even SEVEN-”
There was nothing else for it. Q launched himself at James. He could practically see the gears turning in the other man’s head, no doubt formulating extremely un-funny jokes on the spot. He couldn’t bear to hear them out loud. Q managed to slap his hand across James’ mouth, but the agent rolled with the attack.
Fuelled by annoyance, caffeine and the sound of Moneypenny cheering him on, Q held his own for a moment, as they wrestled on the floor. But James was (although no one would ever admit it) MI6’s best field agent, and Q preferred to exercise his mind rather than his body, and so soon enough found himself flat on his back.
James quickly settled his weight onto Q’s stomach, rather effectively pinning him down no matter how hard Q twisted.
“Dreadfully sorry about this, M,” James said loudly, over the sound of Moneypenny’s encouragement and Tanner trying not to laugh. He began wrestling for control over Q’s wrists. “You know how toddlers get when they haven’t had their afternoon nap.”
Q abruptly lost the fight when he remembered that M was indeed still in the room. There was no give in James’ grip as he held Q’s thin wrists to the floor, and there was no mercy in the glee on his face.
“I know this is all about yours,” James said from his perch over Q, “but this really feels more like my birthday right now.”
Q squirmed violently. He’d had enough of being underneath James. “Get off me! Old man! I’ll send you out for your next mission with nothing but a blunt pencil if you don’t let me up!”
“Children these days,” James continued, shaking his head. “No respect for adults. And,” he said, leaning down so his face was right over Q’s, “‘Old man’? Is that really all you can come up with?”
“Bond,” M said. “Is this really appropriate?”
James continued as if he hadn’t heard M at all. “Perhaps we’ll head to the library later, find you a beginner’s reading book. That might help you improve your vocabulary.”
“I’ll pass, but feel free to go without me. I’d call a cab, though, it’s quite a walk for the elderly-”
“Q!” M said firmly.
How unfair!
“Bond started it!” he said.
James, the bastard, smirked around the room. “And isn’t that the most child-like sentence ever? Come on, Q; we’d better get you into time-out in the naughty corner. Excuse us, M, Tanner, Moneypenny.”
“James, what?” Q said as his wrists were abruptly released, and the great lump on his middle shifted. But before he had chance to wriggle away, James’ big hands wrapped around his waist.
“No, don’t.” Q tried to scramble away, but James’ hands were strong, and his fingertips were digging into Q’s ribs in a ticklish way. “Don’t you dare!”
But James was determined, and Q found himself thrown over the agent’s shoulder in no time at all.
“Put me down!” Q yelped. “Bond!”
“Come along, Q,” he said smugly. “Say goodnight to everyone.”
Just before the door closed behind them, Q got a glance at the room. Moneypenny, the traitor, had something that looked suspiciously like her phone angled towards him. Tanner had stopped trying to stifle his laughter. And Christ, M looked like he was about to crack a smile. How embarrassing.
Eve stopped the recording as the door slammed shut behind the pair.
“Well,” Tanner said, still chuckling a little. “I guess that answers the question of why Bond was asking all those intrusive questions.”
“And why Q looked so horrified when I told him about it,” Eve added, smiling at the memory of poor Q’s face. “I don’t suppose we can finish this off another day, M?”
M waved his hand. “I think a break is in order. Out, you two.”
But just as they were pushing open the door, M cleared his throat. “Moneypenny, I suppose it goes without saying that that video will be in my inbox shortly, yes?”
She snorted. “Of course, sir.”