Chapter Text
He felt very much like a child being called to the principal’s office. The hallway never seemed this long when he had approached his former boss’ office - granted that had been an entirely different building and he often resorted to simply showing up at her home in order to receive orders and prove that he never quite lost a step, but that was all beside the point - but he couldn’t help but feel a bit of nagging when Mallory called him into his office. M. He was M now, not Mallory. The M he had always known was dead and gone and it would do no good to dwell.
James Bond stood at the door leading into the front office. He pushed it open after a moment, flashing the pretty woman at the desk a charming smile. “Ms. Moneypenny,” he greeted, not a bit of the apprehension he felt coloring his voice.
“James,” she replied, her voice soft and sweet. “You’ve kept the boss waiting.”
“I came over as soon as I could.” He leaned up against her desk, picking up an ornate paperweight that could have come from the furthest reaches of the world. It probably did.
“And yet here you are, at my desk. You’re going to get me in trouble.”
The playful banter would have continued on if her phone hadn’t buzzed. “Ms. Moneypenny, send him in,” M’s voice echoed over the comm.
“Right away,” she answered and shot him a pointed look. “Don’t make me shoot at you again.”
“On my way,” he said quickly, moving to the second door with more speed than he’d passed through the first.
He gave a short knock before entering, finding the office just as changed as the last time he’d entered. It took everything he had not to set that horrible little bulldog on M’s desk, where it truly belonged.
“Have a seat, 007. Brandy?” He poured the agent a glass, knowing the answer. He handed it over and promptly poured himself one. He looked worn, Bond noted, as if he’d received some very bad news that had kept him up the night before. Not that he didn’t have a bit of weight on his shoulders, having taken MI6 over after the whole Silva incident. The man was a bloody machine if he hadn’t found himself with a sleepless night or two.
Bond watched M stare at the liquid he had poured in the glass for himself, and the agent had to wonder how many glasses his superior had already indulged in. While it was practically a job qualification for M to be curmudgeonly, it certainly would not do to have one be maudlin.
“Something troubling you, sir?” Bond asked mildly.
M’s cool gray gaze snapped to Bond’s and he straightened in his chair. “We’ve had an information leak. As you can imagine, we’re quite eager to put the lid on this before it can be exposed by the media. After last year, we cannot afford any more bad press, especially when it comes to the security of our information.”
“Are there agents in danger?” Bond asked, appearing no more concerned than he had before M’s declaration.
“I do not believe so. Not at this time. That could change.”
“And you believe you know the source of this leak.”
M paused. “Why do you say that?”
Bond raised an eyebrow. “Tracking the source of an information leak would be a job for Q branch. Taking out the source of the leak would be my job.”
M downed his drink and poured another glass. “Have you spoken to Q this morning?”
“No.” Bond said. He honestly hadn’t had much of a reason to see his Quartermaster in the last month. The missions he had undergone had been routine and only one of the toys Q supplied him had come back broken, which Bond felt had been a personal failing on his part. He considered it a challenge to see how many pieces in which he could bring back his gadgets.
Field testing, and all that.
“Good. Q hasn’t been in this morning.” M pushed a folder over the desk towards the agent. “This is the traced source of the leak. I need you to retrieve him -alive- and bring him in for questioning.”
Bond narrowed his eyes, finishing the brandy and setting the glass on the desk with heavy hand before pulling the folder into his lap. He studied M for thirty seconds, maybe more, until the man blinked and looked away, telling Bond all he needed to know about what he was about to find in the folder. It didn’t lessen the twist in his gut when Q’s face stared out at him from the front of the dossier.
“If we’re comparing bad staff photos, I guarantee you mine’s worse.” Bond said flatly.
“Bond...”
“Is this your idea of a joke?” the agent asked.
“Watch yourself, 007.” M snapped.
Bond stood, restraining himself to simply dropping the folder on the desk. He’d done a bit of digging on Q after their first mission together. He didn’t like to be caught off guard.There wasn’t much about him before he dropped his name for the single letter. While no year was listed, his resume - all employees had one on file at MI6, even if the majority of it was blacked out - spoke of the highest education, honors, and he had come highly recommended to Q branch. Granted, that was all that his resume said, but at the very bottom, where the signature and his hire date was scrawled in, no low-ranking MI6 employee’s name resided. It wasn’t even the previous quartermaster. It was M’s signature. She had personally brought him into the fold, and as far as James was concerned, that clenched it.
“This is absurd. One nutcase takes us for a spin and we’re going to start tearing ourselves apart now?”
“If you’re too emotionally involved I can have someone else bring him in,” M growled, looking even more exhausted.
He was being pressured into this. They had no solid proof, but whoever was pulling the strings on this - bureaucracy, no doubt - would hang Q out to dry if he did anything wrong or not.
“I can bring him in.”
“Good, because you were the name I threw out. If you weren’t capable of it, Derek Craven would have sent his own men after him.”
“Craven?”
“He’s overseeing the investigation and has the PM’s ear on it. Our hands are tied here and -” he lowered his voice - “- and Craven is no fan of our young quartermaster. I’d really prefer you to bring him in, 007.”
“Consider it done.”
“I’m sure it will be.”
Q was not a sentimental sort. He had no photographs on his walls or next to his bed, no hand scribbled pictures from nieces or nephews and no defining features to his flat. He kept it simple, mostly because he was rarely there.
He sat at his desk and glared at the clock. Granted, he could get a good half of the day’s work done from his laptop at home, but he preferred to be in the office. There was something about the smell of gunpowder and the barely controlled sparks of a new toy being tested that made his day seem a little brighter, but he’d run across an irregularity in his latest project and he couldn’t move from his computer until he found the source. It had been a special request, a peace offering as it were, to the higher ups. Mallory had rolled his eyes and wished him good luck.
The young quartermaster had intended to go straight to bed when he had entered his flat at four that morning, but the glitch caught his eye. Four hours later he was still glued to the computer screen, tracing the source. It was as if someone had gotten into his system, but not through any of the usual channels. It was almost as if the data he’d been given to start with was corrupted and infested.
“There you are,” he murmured to himself, finally finding the end of the rope.
He set to unwinding it and grabbed for the land line phone. His attention was finally spared from the computer when he realized there was no dial tone.
“No need to be concerned,” Q said to himself, hanging up the phone and standing.
He moved to his kitchen counter where he’d left his cell phone. Now that he was refocused on the world outside the problem he’d been hounding he realized it was strange that it had not rung or notified him of any text messages since he’d been home. The screen showed the no service available message. Q pressed air through his nose and slipped the phone into his back pocket. If someone were using a jammer, it would affect two of the alarms intruders would trip if entering his apartment without permission.
“Maybe a little concern is called for,” he amended, going back to his computer. He sighed. “Of course.” His WiFi connection had mysteriously been terminated.
Whoever was making a nuisance of themselves was quite prepared; Q might have been impressed if he hadn’t been so annoyed. Shoving paperwork and his laptop into a shoulder bag, he was startled by a loud thud in the hallway. Heart rate increasing with the realization that his situation was about to be quite serious, Q decided that having a statement more powerful than a messenger bag would be prudent. He kept a gun in the top drawer of his nightstand for emergencies, not that he ever believed all his security systems would fail. It was merely a precaution. He put the bag over his shoulder and slowly backed towards his bedroom.
The front door came crashing in and Q felt the panic rise. He ran for the room as one of the men - it looked like there were three, but he couldn’t be sure - came at him. He jumped for the drawer, the intruder jumped for him and they both landed in a pile on his bedroom floor. One large hand took hold of the back of his t-shirt, dragging him off the carpet and to his feet. He struggled for a moment before he felt the barrel of a gun pressed against the back of his head and he went instantly still.
“Looked like you almost had it,” a gravely voice said and grabbed at the quartermaster’s chin, tugging him harshly so that he looked him in the eye.
He was tall, standing a good few inches over Q’s own height, but he was not thin like the younger man. He was broader than even some of the more impressive agents at MI6. He gave a lopsided smirk as their third cohort grabbed the satchel away roughly, pulling the laptop from it.
“Locked up, boss.”
Q’s captor sighed, releasing his chin long enough to take hold of the back of his neck and send him tumbling to the nearest wall. He hit hard, feeling the room spin as he sat down to the floor hard. He swallowed, trying to gain his bearings and stared up.
“Open it.”
“No.”
“It wasn’t a question. Log in or I’ll blow your brains out.”
Q tilted his head and frowned. “You can’t be serious. If you blow my brains out how will you get into the laptop?”
His captor smiled, revealing a perfectly straight, white set of teeth marred only by one missing incisor. “How right you are. Instead, I’ll blow out your kneecap. After that, I’ll break your fingers one by one in such a way that they will never heal properly. You’ll never type again and if you do it will only be with excruciating pain. Now, sign in to your account.”
Q swallowed. “No.” He pulled his knees up close to his chest and braced one hand against the wall.
“As you like it, princess.”
The man aimed the gun at his left knee and Q launched himself up and off the wall a millisecond before the man pulled the trigger. The shot seemed deafening but went wide, his sudden movement throwing off his aim. Q tackled him to the ground, sending the gun spinning under the bed. Q shoved his fist into the bottom of his attacker’s chin, and again into his throat. Taking advantage of the few precious seconds he bought himself, he rolled to the side and scrambled for the gun.
His fingers had just closed around it when he was struck in the side and forced onto his back.
The few seconds had not been enough.
The man’s hands closed around Q’s throat and he struggled to pull the fingers away. Spots floated in front of his eyes. The man let go with one hand to backhand him across the face and Q could taste blood in his mouth. The hit was enough to focus him, and he grasped under the bed until he found the gun again.
The shot wasn’t clean and it took a second to make sure the man wouldn’t move again. Q groaned and sat up, rubbing at his neck and staring at the dead body currently soaking blood into the bedroom carpet.
There were others, Q reminded himself. Others who had most certainly heard the shots. He struggled to his feet, feeling the world spin. They had his computer. He wasn’t entirely worried about these big oafs getting into it as much as triggering one of his many programs that would wipe the hard drive entirely. Q had his hand on the door frame, steadying himself, when his vision into the living room was blocked.
“Never could trust him to finish anything,” the man that had grabbed him first said, glowering past the quartermaster to where his companion lay dead. “Learn a few things at MI6?”
“I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Q managed, backing away. He cursed himself silently when he realized he’d left the gun on the floor. It was easy enough to talk about neutralizing an enemy in theory. What should one do if one is compromised? Even tech geeks received the most basic of training upon admission into MI6. Especially ones with as high of clearance as he had. Now all the training seemed to be slipping out of his mind. His mind which was usually so quick came up blank.
“You’re not afraid enough, but we can change that. When we’re done with ya, you’ll be beggin’ to tell all you know.”
“I wouldn’t count on it. I work with men much more frightening than you.”
“Well they wouldn’t end your life, now would they?”
“That’s debatable.” Q said dryly.
He was rewarded for his comment with another hit to the jaw, splitting his lip.
“Hey, Jeff? I can’t get into this.” The second man called from the front.
Jeff grabbed Q by the neck and forced him through the bedroom doorway, keeping his gun pressed to the base of Q’s skull as they moved. Just as they reached the end of the hallway, they heard a soft “oof” followed by a thud as something heavy hit the wood floor in the kitchen. Pulling Q in front of him as a shield, Jeff moved them into the front room.
Bond stood over the body of the second man, gun pointed in the general direction of Q and his captor, a sight line uncomfortably close to his own limbs for Q’s comfort.
“Q.” Bond greeted.
“Bond.” Q returned, keeping his voice steady. He didn’t miss the way Bond’s eyes narrowed when he looked at Q’s face.
“You planning to shoot straight through him?” Jeff sneered, pulling at the quartermaster roughly.
“No, I was planning on shooting around him.” Without pause he sidestepped and the man was down within a second, leaving Q standing with blood that was not his own splattered across his t-shirt.
“You nearly shot me.”
“But I didn’t,” Bond answered as he approached the shaken younger man.
He gave him a quick once over, making sure that the bruising he could see was the worst of it. There were telltale signs of violence and attempted intimidation in the form of discoloration beginning across the tech genius’ neck and jawline. Bond’s skilled hands checked his jaw briefly, making sure there was no further damage.
Q swatted him away. “I’m fine,” he snapped, “but these men were not alone. Someone had the know-how to shut down my security. I don’t believe for a moment that any of these half-wits would have come close.” He paused and pulled his glasses from his nose, trying to clean them on his now bloodstained shirt. “What are you doing here anyway, 007?”
Bond ignored him and bent by the last man down, rifling through pockets. The man had no identification on him, only a wad of cash and extra ammunition. “They came well armed for a tech geek.” he murmured. “I didn’t see a car when I arrived. That means it’s parked well enough away or there was a driver who left when you killed the first one.”
“007, what are you doing here?” Q insisted, righting his glasses on his nose.
Bond looked up at him from his position crouched near the body, blue eyes unreadable. “Did you know any of these men?”
“What? Don’t be absurd. Why would I know any of them? And if I knew them why would they have broken into my flat? Where’s my laptop? There’s something I’ve got to finish.” Q moved away from the bodies and towards his laptop, open again on his kitchen table.
Bond was up in an instant and grabbed him by an elbow, swinging the younger man around to face him. “Q. There are three dead men in your flat which takes priority over whatever you’ve got on your laptop and it is important that you look me in the eye and tell me you do not know any of them. Do you know what they wanted?”
For the first time Q caught a sense of barely contained urgency in his agent and he stilled, thinking back through the verbal interaction. He met Bond’s gaze. “No, I don’t know who any of them are and they never said what they wanted, other than the laptop. Access to the laptop, I mean. Listen to me, there is something more important than this. There’s been a crack in the system; I’ve got to stop it.”
Bond didn’t let the quartermaster pull out of his grasp. “Q, it’s too late for that.”
Q met the agent’s eyes and found himself gripping his jacket tightly. The room was spinning again, but not entirely from the blows he had taken. Something was terribly wrong, and if he had been more on his game he might be able to focus in on it. “007, why are you here?” he asked for the last time. He didn’t want to know the answer, but he knew that he needed to.
Bond sighed. “There’s been a leak. Mallory’s being pressured.”
“You weren’t here to rescue me.”
“No.”
“Mallory thinks I’d betray MI6?”
“He thought it was worth bringing you in for questioning.” Bond sighed and checked his cell. He hadn’t had signal when he’d come in, so whoever was blocking before was gone by then. “This should turn events.”
“I’ve been set up.”
“I know.”
Q blinked, watching Bond dial a number to a private line. “How do you know?”
The blond agent gave him no answer, merely watched Q's face and focused on the conversation. “M, I’ve got him, but someone else tried to get to him first.” He paused, listening. “He’s alright, mostly. Listen, he’d found the breach when he was attacked. I get the feeling you’ve thrown me into something without all the facts.”
He waited again and Q could vaguely make out M speaking on the other end.
“Right. Will do. Yes sir, I understand.” James snapped the phone shut and took hold of Q’s arm again. “Get what you need. We’re leaving.”
“To HQ?”
“No.”
“I don’t want to go to Scotland.” Q said, sounding faintly alarmed.
Bond glared at him. “Go. And change your shirt!”
Ten minutes later Q reappeared with a duffle bag slung over his shoulder and wearing a shirt devoid of blood. He picked up his messenger bag and nodded once. Bond took his elbow again as they left the flat, giving Q mere seconds to lock the door before herding him down the hall.
When they reached the street Q looked up at him, his expression both grim and determined. Bond opened his mouth before quickly shutting it again when he realized what he was about to say. He learned long ago not to make promises or give reassurances, not when he wanted it to be the truth, not when he geniunely cared about the outcome.
“The car’s two blocks over.” he murmured instead.
Q nodded. “Where are we going?”
“It’s a surprise.”
“I never cared for surprises.” Q said.
“You shouldn’t have gone into espionage, then.” Bond said easily.
“Is that why you did it? For the surprise of it all?”
“No. I joined because I thought there were no surprises left.”
They were almost to the car before Q asked, “Were there any?”
They looked at each other over the top of the car for a moment until Bond smiled, the slightly unnerving all knowing smile that always left Q with the impression none of his gadgets were coming home in one piece that day, and said, “Several.”