Chapter Text
"This is how bad things get started", Q thinks as he peers over his mug of tea at the still closed door.
He's been starting at the door for eighteen minutes now, waiting for 007 to walk in, slightly bloodied, ready to turn in equipment that has been damaged beyond repair. He's been staring at the door even though he knows that James Bond will not walk through them for at least another four-point-five minutes.
Q leans back into his chair, takes another sip of tea, and sighs. He sets his mug down and then picks it up again. He fidgets with his computer, absentmindedly rewriting a computer program designed to immediately open or lock automatic sliding doors by the choice of the user. He hears the doors slide open but does not look up. He tells himself that it is because of his underlings clicking away at their own computers, but he knows that if they haven't noticed his ridiculous preoccupation with this specific double-oh, then they don't deserve to be working at MI6.
Q doesn't expect to hear the light steps of 007 as he approaches the desk but assumes this is Bond's way of being friendly and attempting not to freak his new Quartermaster out. If only he knew.
"Reporting to return your equipment, double-oh-seven?", Q asks without looking away from his screen.
He gets a deep chuckle in return as the secret agent drops two very charred looking items on Q's nearly spotless desk. Q adjusts his glasses and picks up what used to be a better than state-of-the-art smart phone and a gun which fired untraceable ice bullets.
"I distinctly remember handing you three pieces of equipment, 007. In a flame retardant case", Q states and finally looks up to examine the state of the world's most exasperating secret agent.
Bond shrugs shamelessly. He looks better than he usually does when he returns from an assignment. There are a few visible cuts on his arms, but he looks relatively okay for a man who has spent the last six days hunting down assassins in the middle of nowhere. However, he does look tired, and Q would know, as Q has spent most of the past six days talking Bond through the mission and sitting at the end of his seat hoping that Bond would pull through again.
Of course Bond pulled through, he always does, and he always will, until he doesn't. M told him that once, when Q was told that he was being assigned as Bond's Quartermaster. She told him to not take Bond's life as his own responsibility, but they both knew that she was saying the exact opposite. If Bond had died on his watch, M would have fired him on the spot. But that was the old M, and the new M was a bit different.
The new M had made Q promise to not let Bond get out of hand, and Q wasn't planning on letting that happen. But then again, James Bond tended to have plans of his own.
"I lost the case", Bond mentions with a smirk, snapping Q out of his really long train of thought, "and the pill canister."
Of course Bond had lost the pill canister which worked as a lock pick and a remote detonator of ten tiny pill shaped bombs, and which had taken Q months to perfect. Q openly scowled at the agent in front of him.
"The next time you lose something that I have literally spent months working on you are going to find yourself with some very faulty equipment, agent. Perhaps I will even rig a pen to leak extremely staining ink onto one of your ridiculously fitted suits."
Bond raises his eyebrows. "It wouldn't do for me to walk around in a stained suit. I guess I would have to just take it off then", he replied, not taking his eyes off of Q who refused to rise to the bait. Controlling the telltale blush that was most assuredly travelling up his neck was a different story though. He rubs the back of his neck, looking away from 007's gaze.
Suddenly, Q remembers where he is and that no less than thirty of his creepily alert employees are no doubt eavesdropping the best they could. Q leans back in his chair and wheels himself far away from Bond, who looks quite pleased at the effect he is making. Q glances at the small tablet strapped to his arm to read his alerts.
"M wants you to go to medical and then report to him", Q announces, "And next time, do make sure you at least bring one thing back intact."
"Wouldn't want to disappoint you again, now would I?", Bond whispers, startlingly close to Q's ear.
Q suppresses a shiver and doesn't look up until the automatic doors safely swooshes shut. Q lightly bangs his head on his desk. This is bad.
It had started out just fine. Actually, it started out completely great. Q was nothing if not quick witted, and could easily keep up with 007's clever banter and derisive comments. Then one day, Eve, of course it was Eve, brought up the ridiculous notion of him fancying Bond. A completely ridiculous notion which Q could not get out of his head. And now Q dissolved into a puddle every time Bond was near, like an adolescent girl with her first crush. 007 would definitely appreciate the parallel.
Q's arm tablet vibrates, alerting him that he had another message. STOP MOPING, it reads. Q looks up to see Eve smirking knowingly at him.
"What do you want?", Q grumbles.
"To watch you suffer.", Eve quips gleefully.
Q groans and yells for someone to make him more tea. Like hell if he is going to be bothered to actually get out of his chair today. Q gives Eve the finger and is soon distracted by a message on his tablet from M. Bond was leaving for another assignment tomorrow and needed some supplies. This means another sleepless night. Eve seems to get the same message on her mobile, so she rushes off in her clacking heels to do more of M's bidding.
After Eve leaves, Q brings up the list of things 007 would need for his mission and opens up his design board program. Bond would need a need an updated tracker, and there was a new pen gadget that Q knew Bond would love. It didn't explode, but it did tell the user how many armed people were in the room. A shy programmer approaches slowly to fill Q's mug with Earl Grey, and Q gives her a genuine smile. When it comes down to the actual work, Q loves doing his job. It is just Bond that he needs to keep an eye out for.