Work Text:
(I don't own any characters etc etc)
Q sighed as he looked out the window of Heathrow Airport into the gloomy, rainy weather. Grey clouds melted into the grey tarmac, broken up by white planes and airport staff in their neon green waterproof overcoats.
He hated flying, he hated airports, and he hated flying in rain. Who knew if the flight would be delayed, or even cancelled? He shuddered at the thought, not because it would be a nuisance to rebook but because it would just delay the inevitable of climbing into a metal bird and praying that everyone arrived in one piece.
Really, he thought, who even came up with the idea of going how many kilometers into the air? He cursed the Wright Brothers, but given that so many intellectuals and creators before them had dreamed of similar things, it was only a matter of time until someone did that.
“Flying cars would have been better,” he mused to himself, knowing it was probably untrue and would be despised by him all the same, but it made him feel a little better.
He glanced around at the other travelers, all as nondescript as himself. Fortunately he didn’t mind the other passengers or crew when flying, just the overall activity. Q pursed his lips as he first checked his watch, then his phone. Bond was due to take the same flight but hadn’t arrived at the gate yet. He was probably either going to board at the last minute or was elsewhere in the airport, having a cocktail at some executive’s lounge regardless that it wasn’t even time for supper.
Q rolled his eyes at the thought of actually enjoying time in an airport. It wasn’t that he couldn’t access those lounges, what with his title of division head; he could get in just about anywhere, really. He just didn’t partake of those often, and certainly not in an airport. No, he wanted to be out in the middle of everything at the gate where he could hear and see clearly to know what was going on to the exact minute, if not second.
Q turned his attention back to his computer, as neither he nor Bond were flying out for any concerning reason. No dangerous mission this time, just joining M and some others for a short conference of sorts, a number of briefings and checking in with other departments overseas.
His screen wasn’t on anything confidential given that he was in public, just playing a series of puzzle deciphering games. And this was just one of his personal computers, used specifically for a time such as this when in public if he had time to kill, which wasn’t often. It had secure access to contact his team through a back channel if ever needed, nothing more than that.
Eventually the gate crew announced their flight would be boarding soon, and the passengers at the gate buzzed as they began to collect their belongings and start the shuffle to the desk for when their boarding groups were called.
The plane was due to depart at six in the evening and began to board about thirty minutes earlier. Q had arrived far earlier than was needed, not trusting anything when he travelled, save for himself. Not the traffic getting to Heathrow, nor the security (even if he was fast tracked), nor the airlines itself. Days like this he wasn’t even sure he trusted himself, double and triple checking his packing list before leaving his flat.
The good thing about flying later in the day, he thought as he cast a glance outside where the view had gone from a light grey overcast to a slightly darker one, was that his fellow travelers would hopefully be winding down for the day. Perhaps they’d have more patience, be more eager to get on board and rest. Chatter in the cabin would be at a minimum, Q mused, pleased by the thought as he waited for his group to be called.
Q soon settled into his aisle seat, further pleased that the middle seat was empty and that the passenger in the window seat was clearly preparing to sleep away most of the next nine or so hours of the flight. Lucky him, Q silently said to himself, knowing he would be fortunate to doze slightly for even a third of that.
He was well rested, all things considered, and really, given that this was an airbus, it was quite comfortable. And yet, nothing helped to reassure him that this was going to be a safe flight. Instead, Q ran through statistics in his mind as he always did when preparing for takeoff.
“The overall accident rate for commercial air travel has declined significantly over the years. It is now 1.25 accidents per million sectors. The fatality risk rate has dropped to 0.10 per million sectors. The highest number of incidents and fatalities occurs in private aircraft, not commercial. Safety measures have improved, technology has improved, flight crews are well trained and the pilots are especially experienced. Hopefully,” he sighed, before trying to focus on the standard flight crew demonstration of use of the seatbelt, air mask, and life vest. He tightened his seat belt a little more, knowing he would only take it off if he were to leave his seat. A seat carefully chosen in the last row of the plane, which was also statistically the safest in the event of a crash. Really, the middle seat was actually the safest, he mused as he glanced longingly at it, but he did have a weakness for being able to get up when he wanted or needed to without disturbing anyone, so he gambled with choosing one seat over.
Bond, on the other hand, was booked for first class or even super first class, whatever the best of the best was, Q recalled, pulling out his phone to check any updates. No messages from the other man to say he was on board, but also none from anyone in Q branch to report 007 hadn’t boarded the flight. Bond was a grown field agent, and possessed the ability to even be mature here and there. He was capable of getting on planes before the door closed…but Q still snuck a look at the passenger list that he had earlier hacked into. Then it had been to guarantee his seat hadn’t been moved; now it was to ensure Bond was on the flight, and Q nodded approvingly at seeing he had been checked in at the gate after all. Satisfied, Q exited out and tucked his phone away.
The pilots soon made their own announcement thanking everyone for choosing this airline (Q frowned), stating their expectation of a smooth flight (Q rolled his eyes), and instructing the crew to prepare for takeoff (Q took a deep breath).
But, to the pilot’s credit, take off went as well as it could have and eventually the pilots announced that they would be turning the seatbelt sign off. Q shook his head at that, never trusting it. No, what he did trust was the radio communications between the pilots and air towers and controllers, and so he took his computer out once more, connecting to a secure private Wi-Fi and tuning into said radio. He had long ago ensured he could access it from any device, as he never knew when he or his staff might need to tap into the radio for a flight in the world to help one of their agents.
Q was old fashioned in some ways and took out corded earbuds, plugging it into the jack in his computer. He was never sure who might be trying to hop onto someone else’s device in a small space like this, either for fun or for something more nefarious, and so figured why take the chance? It was not like anyone else needed to access the chatter, he thought, as he sat back in his seat as beverage service began to be organized in the staff area behind his row, only putting an earbud into his left ear and wondering what 007 might be getting up to for the flight. Q could have joined him way up in the best class, but he had opted for the safety of his current seat, thank you very much.
And really, he thought, it was for the best to not be sat together for all these hours, Q thought as his cheeks grew slightly warm. Bond had been spending more and more time in the Q branch, stating he needed “things only our dear Quartermaster can provide me,” which earned an eye roll from Q but whispers and giggles from his staff.
Bond didn’t need to stand so close when he went over equipment with Q, so close that faint wisps of dark, rich cologne wafted to the younger man. He didn’t need to inquire if Q’s tea had grown cold and did he want a refill? And he certainly didn’t need to ask if Q had seen this or that latest film in cinema. And when Q had curtly told the agent that no, he hadn’t been to the cinema in ages, Bond certainly didn’t need to lean in and propose Q come round to his flat for a movie marathon one night, complete with low voice and a wink. (A rocket launcher failing at that moment had saved Q from needing to respond.)
Bond didn’t need to do those things, but he did, and Q…well, Q was flattered. Flattered, interested, intrigued, curious, and a little suspicious. Surely the double-oh was just bored in between missions and looking for amusement? Rile up Q, that was probably a good laugh for him, and before either knew it Bond would be gone and shacking up with someone else for the mission or beyond.
And yet…Bond had been at it for some time, even before that one mission to [redacted] just what, seven weeks ago? He had come back and instead of being satisfied with a break from London, 007 had upped his actions! Q even dared to consider that the man had actually gotten coaching from someone for it all, else why suddenly bring up something so…civilian…as to stay in and watch a film?
Q shook his head; Bond was on this flight and given that neither really slept on public planes, they would likely run into each other at some point. Best for him to not entertain any fantasies during working hours, Q told himself. After this trip, if Bond asked about making plans together again, well, perhaps Q would say yes. But for now, he had other plans to focus on for this trip, including knowing they would be arriving there safely, and so he began to flitter around different air communication channels.
A short time later he was sitting listening to general chatter and sipping a cup of hot tea, finally feeling slightly relaxed. Or, as relaxed as he was likely to be on the flight until they safely landed and he was back on solid ground. The radio chatter was soft and gentle, infrequent as they flew now that about two hours had passed since take off. That, combined with the dimmed lights in the cabin and moderately adequate earl grey soothed Q, who let his mind wander to this and that. Until…
He blinked several times and sat straighter as the unthinkable happened.
“This is Flight 841, Tower 3 did you say you received a threat for Heathrow down there? Do we need to change anything up here? Over.”
“Flight 841, this is Heathrow Tower 3, that was a negative reply from you. We said….” But the tower trailed off, and Q froze.
“Heathrow Tower 3, this is Flight 841, negative on your last message, don’t think we heard you clear,” Q heard the plane’s pilot say. “Confirmation requested on what is happening. Over.”
Q held his breath as he waited for the response he hoped would not come. Perhaps they were too far from London that it was not meant for them…perhaps it was a joke…perhaps…
“Flight 841, this is Heathrow Tower 3. I repeat,” Tower 3 said. “A bomb threat has been called in. This is not a drill. This is not a hoax. Confirm understanding. Over.”
“Tower 3, this is Flight 841. I copy, threat has been made to you. Do we need to divert from original flight plan? Over.”
“Christ on a cracker, I just can’t catch a break,” Q thought, glaring at the roof of the plane as if the skies themselves could see it. He put his half-drunk cup of tea on the middle seat’s tray and turned his attention to his computer, putting in his second earbud.
“Negative, Flight 841, this is Heathrow Tower 3. Bomb threat has been made to you. I repeat, threat is directed at Flight 841. Bomb declared to be on board. Stand by for new flight plan.”
Q stared numbly at his screen as both he and the pilots took the news in.
“Flight 841, do you copy, over.”
“This is Flight 841, we c-copy,” the pilot finally said. “Threat on plane. Awaiting instructions. Over.”
“This is Heathrow Tower 3. Stand by for those. Until then carry on, do not share with anyone else on crew,” the tower said, and Q sighed as his mind went instantly to work mode, not that he was sure it ever really turned off from that.
He glanced at his row mate, finding them to now be asleep with their head against the plane and turned back to his computer, bringing up the secure messaging platform for MI6 that he hadn’t expected to actually be using today. No calls or texts up here, so instant message it was, he conceded as his fingers deftly flew over the keyboard to share the information.
“Received, sir,” came the fast response from his branch. They surely were receiving the news in real time there as well, but Q had sent more information, or technically requests for information. Review the passenger list, both who had checked in, boarded, and cancelled, if any. Flight crew information, maintenance staff at the airport. If anyone had even sneezed at this plane since the last flight, Q wanted to know, and unfortunately this computer couldn’t do much right now what with less than ideal internet and possibly being on display for others, not to mention it just plain wasn’t equipped for such usage, and he didn’t dare pull out the work laptop from the bag by his feet in such a space.
Q did, however, message his staff that he was going to talk to 007 and the pilot and would check in shortly, knowing that until information was received about anyone and anything there was little else anyone on board could do.
He took his earphones out and closed his computer before making sure his bag was securely locked. Q left the bag where it was and stood, tucking his phone into his trouser pocket and his personal computer under his arm as he walked up the aisle, appearing to be a passenger heading for the loo, perhaps. The crew weren’t visible, so he turned around and went back towards the rear, knowing that some crew would be in the staffing area there. Standing next to his own seat once more, he lightly knocked on the doorframe and the two women there looked at him.
“Anything you need, sir?” one asked.
Q nodded, taking out a particular identification card and speaking in a soft voice. “I’m a member of Her Majesty’s government, and I need to have a word with the pilots.”
The woman’s eyes widened as she looked at the unfamiliar but very official card, turning to look at her colleague, who shrugged.
“Beats me,” the younger woman said. “Ask someone else?”
The first woman nodded. “Please wait here,” she said, studying the card once more before walking away. Q nodded and sat in his seat again, fighting the urge to fidget as he waited. He couldn’t blame them, he supposed, for how many people randomly stated they were with the government during a seemingly quiet and boring flight?
“If you could just write your answer, sir,” the second woman suddenly said several moments later, appearing next to him and holding out a napkin. Q raised an eyebrow but saw she had been tasked with writing a coded question on it; someone was helping through the radio to confirm his identity, then.
He nodded and wrote the response on it, and she hurried back to her station, likely to send it to the staff at the front. Q was quite pleased, really, seeing as it was a security measure he had updated upon taking on his current position. A nod to the classics, akin to an exploding pen.
“Please head to the front,” the woman whispered to him a moment later, eyes wide and face slightly pale. He offered her what he hoped was a reassuring smile, though he wasn’t sure how successful he was.
Q again tucked his computer under his arm and walked up the aisle where he was soon met by the first attendant. She led him through the first class area and small lounge, an area that was forward from the plane’s door and only accessible to select passengers. Q kept his eyes straight ahead, unsure if Bond would be aware of who was passing through, though he suspected he would be.
The attendant asked him to wait for her outside the cockpit but a moment later invited him to take her place there.
“Thank you,” Q said, dipping his head. “Could I also ask you to tell the passenger in seat A11 that a representative from Universal Exports would like to have a drink with him here?” Q asked, nodding at the lounge, and she blinked in surprise before agreeing.
Q ducked into the cockpit, closing the door behind him and introducing himself to the shocked men.
“I’ve heard the radio and what’s been called in, departments in the government are looking into it to determine authenticity and any leads,” Q said firmly.
“If it’s true, sir, what then?” one of the pilots asked, and Q shrugged as he opened his laptop again, holding it with one hand while looking at the message thread with the other.
“We try to keep everyone alive and defuse it if possible. The fewer people that know about this, the better,” Q said as his eyes roamed the screen.
“Call untraceable, may have been prerecorded,” his branch wrote. “Nothing identifiable of person. They will be calling for ransom information, hopefully to also to share of what the bomb is and where. Flight to continue until then, but not to lose altitude. Too much change or land too early and kaboom.”
Q rolled his eyes; he’d have to have a word with his team about when sound effects were rather inappropriate, thank you very much. Like when there was a bomb on the very plane he was on!
“Stay the course, don’t change anything,” Q instructed the pilots. “No change in anything,” he repeated. “Find me if you need to even sneeze.”
They nodded, eyes wide, and he replied to his team to confirm receipt of the message before closing his computer once more and exiting the cockpit to re-enter the lounge. There were quite a few passengers in the space, which was similarly dimly lit as the cabin, perhaps even more so. Luxuriously dim, Q’s brain posed as he took a seat at the small bar in the middle of the space just as its other lone patron stood to leave, and asked the bartender for a club soda with lime. He took a sip as a glass of whiskey was poured for someone else without prompting before the bartender moved away.
“Are you causing trouble again?” Q heard in a low familiar, teasing voice, and turned to his right.
“No, Bond, I’m not.”
“Tsk tsk, we’re on vacation,” Bond said with a smile as he sat and held up his whiskey in a slight toast, eyes crinkling. “You can call me by my first name.”
“We’re on a work trip,” Q reminded him, both careful to keep their voices down in the quieter space.
“For this kind of trip, it’s all the same thing. Anyway,” Bond continued. “If you were seated up there with me, you wouldn’t be involved in a ruckus.”
“The safest place to sit is as far back from the nose as possible,” Q retorted, and Bond shrugged.
“Good thing I don’t like to play it safe,” he said with a wink, and Q swallowed thickly.
“Good thing indeed,” Q told him. “Because we’ve been called into work.”
Bond raised an eyebrow, and Q couldn’t help but register the miniscule telltale signs of the field agent tensing, getting ready. What did it say about him that Q knew those things about Bond, he wondered, before pushing it away for another day. First things first, he had to remain alive to be able to process that which he did not wish to.
Instead, Q studied his own drink as he softly brought Bond up to speed on everything.
“We descend for landing and we risk it going off,” Q finished. “I expect the flight path to be changed as soon as they can, should this all go sideways and they need to cause as little destruction on the ground as possible,” he bitterly added as he pulled his phone out. The instant messaging was on there too, though he preferred his laptop for longer messages. But to open it now with other passengers sprinkled around the room, well, he didn’t dare.
“Any updates on where or what?” Bond asked, but Q pursed his lips and shook his head, unaware of how Bond’s eyes watched the dark locks bounce slightly. “Don’t you have one of your terrific gadgets for something like this?”
Q looked up, prepared to snap back in a hissed whisper, but found the other man had a warm smile on his face, eyes twinkling. The younger man’s heart flipped, but Q set his mouth in a firm line, lest he return the smile; this was not the time or place, he told himself again.
“I seem to have left my bomb sniffing dog at home,” Q replied, his brain apparently just now catching up with everything, as he realized Bond had praised his work.
“I thought you preferred cats…”
“I do, but they’re terrible at caring about this sort of thing,” Q murmured as he glanced at his phone, delighted when Bond snorted at that. He made a mental note to consider what it meant that 007 recalled his preference in pets, and tried to will his brain onto the task at hand and to please not catalogue Bond when they are trying to remain alive, thank you very much!
He was saved by files uploading to his phone and messages coming in, the gentle but steady vibrations grounding him.
“The message was definitely prerecorded,” Q read. “Untraceable. But there seems to be more than one person involved, and someone’s come forward.”
“How noble of them,” Bond dryly commented, swirling his drink.
“They got cold feet, I suppose. Or a bloody conscience,” Q sighed. “Not the brains of the operation, but have enough know-how to be giving information on it.”
“Such as?”
“The frequency,” Q reported. “And I do happen to have a gadget for that.”
“Fantastic, as always,” Bond cheered, albeit in a low voice. “I’m never flying without you again.”
“And I’m never flying again, if I can help it,” Q said, shaking his head.
“Ah, but there’s so many places to take you to,” Bond told him. “However, I’ll respect it and plan for where I can drive you to first.”
“Does a line like that always work on your missions?”
“Is it working with you?” Bond replied without hesitation, and Q forgot how to breathe for a moment.
“So,” Q said in place of actually acknowledging it, clearing his throat and returning to his phone. “No other information on what, or where, just that it’s powerful.”
“And of the main brains behind it?” Bond asked, but Q shook his head as he continued to swipe around his phone. “So they could be anywhere in the world. Or even that person talking to our boots on the ground.”
“It’s possible,” Q admitted, looking up in slight surprise. “A double bluff? Pretend to not be themselves?”
Bond shrugged. “It’s worth entertaining. What’s next?”
Q blinked as he considered the man’s thoughts before looking down at his phone again. “There will be a call in….thirty five minutes,” he said, checking the time. “To see if her majesty’s government is ready to make a deal.”
“Money for information?” Bond posed. “How quaint.”
“We don’t have a motive yet,” Q pointed out. “Money, political statement, personal attack towards a passenger.”
“Q, we’ll make a profiler out of you yet,” Bond teased, and Q rolled his eyes.
“So, we have an idea of frequency, we just have to find it, to start,” Q mused. “I told them to send me the, yes, here it is, blueprints for the plane,” Q said in a hushed voice, holding his phone so Bond could peer at it too. That, fortunately, would raise no questions should anyone see them looking at a phone together. “My hands are a bit tied due to being in the air, the service won’t let me just get these things myself, and downloading files isn’t fast up here either. But anyway, there’s part of the cargo below deck that serves as a rest area for the crew,” he said, enlarging that part on his screen.
“You think it’s in a crew member’s bag?”
“I don’t believe so, MI6 hasn’t found any concerns in their records,” Q offered. “But the area does have the entrance to the cargo hold. If we don’t detect anything in the regular cabin areas, we’ll need to head down there.”
“Let’s hope it’s not outside, I’ve not packed anything to wear for it,” Bond commented, and Q couldn’t help but snort.
“The problem, of course,” he sighed, “is where my gadget is.”
“And where would that be?” Bond asked, and watched as Q tapped the cargo hold.
“While I always travel with something like that, I saw no reason to think I would need it for the flight,” the younger man sighed. “So, perhaps we work backwards.”
Bond nodded. “Go down there, get your tools, check the cargo hold, then back up here if needed?”
Q nodded, and they quickly formed a plan. They wouldn’t go down together, nor even be seen together outside of this lounge this time. Instead, they parted ways with Bond resuming a normal volume as he told Q that while it was lovely to learn more about the exporting business, he had no intention of stopping his current provider at this time, but would keep that company in mind for the future.
That being said, they talked about the latest footie match of random teams before Q took his leave, walking back to his seat. There, he opened his computer once more and sent a message to his team to alert them of what he and 007 would do momentarily, that he would have his phone on him but limited communication for a short time. Satisfied, he turned it off and locked it in his carry on bag, taking out a newer and sleeker earbud and tucking that in his left ear, intending to give the other one to Bond when he saw him down below.
Setting his phone to read incoming messages to him via the earbud, Q rose and went to speak to the flight crew member from before, informing her of what he needed access to. Fortunately, the entrance to the staff’s area was ahead near the lounge, and so Q could appear to be returning to that, should anyone be concerned. Not that he thought they would, as it was not quite bedtime for most adults, but at least nearing the part of the flight where people were more settled and less inclined to peer at others.
The crew member led him through a curtained doorway before proceeding through a securely locked door (to his approval) and down a short, semi-steep set of stairs. Several crew members looked up in surprise, one even whistled at the woman bringing a male passenger downstairs. An older attendant stood sharply, a frown on her face.
“What are you doing!” the senior staff member snapped.
“He’s with the government, ma’am,” the crew member said, as Q pulled out his ID once more. “Needs to get to his bag. Pilots and Heathrow approve.”
“I…oh…” the senior woman said, surprised. “This is unexpected!”
“I’m sure,” Q gently agreed. “I won’t be long, if you can just point me to the entrance?”
She nodded and called for another attendant to do that, a young man around Q’s own age.
“Perfect, thank you,” he said to the senior woman. “And please, can you give this to the passenger in A11? I apologize, I know you’re on break, if someone could just tell him he lost it, that would be most helpful,” Q said, holding out the earbud case.
Another young man stood, putting his uniform jacket back on and nodded before taking the item and walking away as he buttoned his coat up.
Q followed the other man to the cargo hold and waved the man away politely when he offered to help. The staff member admitted there was no rhyme or reason to bag locations, but Q assured him it was fine and that he just needed space and privacy.
The man obliged and Q began to look for his suitcase - a plain black one, hard shell, boring. Meant to blend in. He cursed it for being so normal, and while he could have taken out his phone to use the tracking, it surely wouldn’t save him that much time? Instead, he continued to root around and heard his phone alert him that a second earbud was now online.
Q smiled at how fast Bond picked up on things, not that Q was the most innovative with his information shared through a second party. Still, not too shabby for someone who was otherwise behind a screen most of the time, Q mused. It would be nice if he could communicate with Bond, but the plan was for the double-oh to come down soon enough, so Q wasn’t concerned.
He finally found his bag and regretted sending away the other man as he had to move other heavier bags out of the way to get to his. Q went through his biometric and other locks to get into his suitcase, opening a concealed compartment and taking out a smaller device. He left it at his feet as he secured his bag once more, figuring that he didn’t need to cause a scene or leave anything out just in case.
Q booted up his device and waited for it to come on line, hoping it would work in the air. Surely it had been tested on something like a plane, he figured, but couldn’t think of the results. When was the last time, and on what kind of plane?
Just as it seemed to be working, his phone read aloud into the earbud.
“Bomber reported to be on the plane,” the automated voice read in a crackling tone and Q froze. He pulled out his phone, noting that the signal didn’t appear strong down there, and sighed as he grabbed his device and headed back to the staff area to head upstairs, ignoring the confused and concerned looks from the crew sitting there.
“It’s all very hush hush,” a crew member whispered to another.
“Probably have to debrief after this flight, whatever’s going on,” another added.
“More than you know,” Q wryly thought, keeping it to himself. He stood at the top of the stairs bracing against the walls in the small staircase. If he left the area now he’d be in full view of anyone nearby, and he was trying to not raise any concern or suspicion. But if he didn’t have a good signal, he’d have no other choice.
“You know where there’s bloody great signal?” he grumbled to himself. “The ground, dear old Mother Earth.”
Fortunately, it was good enough and the signal strengthened. Q typed out requests for information on the bomber, any pictures, demographics, anything that could help.
“Done you one better, sir,” his screen showed as the automated voice read. “Seat C4.”
“Well done!” Q wrote back, proud that in the short time before he could send his message his team had already been working on it. Now he just had to connect with Bond and form a plan.
Q glanced at his watch; still not so late that too many people might be asleep, but probably enough people were awake that they had to approach this gently.
Suddenly, Q’s left shoulder hit the wall and he realized the plane was turning.
“Status report, flight plan,” he wrote, holding his breath as he waited for a response.
“Plane being turned around towards England,” his team wrote. “New path over as much open field lands as possible as precaution. Bomber unstable. Not predictable. Send report when bomber has been secured.”
“As secured as we can get up here,” Q sighed, figuring he had no choice but to leave the stairwell and connect with Bond now.
He opened the door only to find himself nearly face to face with none other than 007, who had just pushed through the curtain to that area.
“He got up, went to the lounge,” Bond said, all business now, eyes firm. “Going there now.”
“Be careful,” Q said before he could stop himself, noting a small quirk of Bond’s lips into a barely there smile.
“Always,” Bond replied, before exiting through the curtain once more. Q took a deep breath and counted slowly to ten before deciding to leave himself, checking his watch before he did so. He frowned; the time expected for the second call had come and gone, albeit not long ago. What, if anything, did that mean?
Unsure, all he could do was advance to the lounge himself, tucking his monitoring device into the front of his trouser waistband underneath his jumper, a baggier one he had gratefully chosen for comfort during the trip. It wasn’t as if he had a large bulky device, Q mused as he adjusted his clothes, as it was the size of a large tablet, and broader, like a gift box.
There were fewer people now, just 007 sitting at one end of the bar counter, a man and woman whispering and laughing softly together near the doorway Q was in, and another man sitting in the farthest corner by himself, swiping on his phone.
Q went to the opposite end of the bar counter, and ordered another club soda, delicately sipping it as he pulled his phone out again.
His ears perked as he heard snappy hushed tones from the direction of the lone man, and his phone instantly read on screen and to the earphones.
“Bomber calling in, directly.”
“Requests?” Q wrote back. He realized Bond would have no idea what he was writing on his end, and made a note to explore that feature in the future. Still, a smart man like him would quickly catch on, Q mused.
“I don’t care! I said fifty!” the man snapped, before lowering his voice again.
“Fifty million pounds to be able to land the plane,” the phone read. “Another fifty after he’s off for passengers to actually depart it.”
Q scoffed at the absurdity and disregard for human life. “Motives?” he wrote.
“Negative at this time. Thirty minutes to agree or he’ll detonate,” the phone read, and Q froze, eyes wide.
He couldn’t help but glance over at Bond when the bartender’s back was turned, and the other man just looked over and winked at him again before asking the bartender for another drink.
“A double this time,” Bond requested, and Q frowned, but his attention was diverted when the caller stood and began to leave the lounge.
Bond thanked the bartender and left a healthy tip, waving off the thanks as he sipped his whiskey. The bartender moved away, and Q swallowed nervously.
“Why threaten that when he’s on the plane?” Q asked softly, not looking at 007.
“Motive. Seeking a bluff. Or has every intention to leave himself.”
“In the air?” Q asked before he could stop himself, continuing to speak in low voices.
“In the air.”
Q thought about it. “His gear must be stored somewhere up here. If he opens the emergency door, air pressure changes and in the panic we may start to decrease altitude.”
“And it gets set off,” Bond agreed, as both continued to not look at the other. “Without any trace of him.”
“And if they agree and we land, then what? He thinks he’ll get to just walk away?”
“It's enough money for a head start, though I’m sure he’s got his next destination already planned,” Bond mused.
“Or…”
“Go on.”
“There’s a third person,” Q posed with a frown. “One got cold feet, one is here as a plant, to seal the deal. But if it goes south, he’s disposable. And there’s at least one more person who would actually receive the funds, or get to walk away.”
“Naturally,” Bond agreed.
“I’ll tell them to start looking into it,” Q murmured as he tapped on his phone and received confirmation from his team.
“That means a disposable man is an unpredictable man,” Bond softly posed. “Nothing to lose.”
Q looked at him before he could stop himself, fear creeping in at the realization. “All these people,” he softly said, and Bond offered him a gentle smile.
“Will be saved by us,” Bond told him. “You and I, together. Ready, Q?” he asked as more people entered the lounge.
“I, sure?” Q replied, and Bond nodded before sipping his drink as the bartender neared them to begin to make drinks.
“So strong,” Bond purred, standing up and staggering slightly, to Q’s surprise, earning a chuckle from the bartender and the other couple who had remained in the lounge as they stood on unsteady feet as well, leaving after calling out goodnights to the other men.
“Not like any of us have anywhere to be for a while,” they laughed, and Bond nodded several times.
“Exactly, cheers to that!” he said, slightly slurring. He looked at Q and grinned. “You should have one too, mate. Helps pass the time.”
“I’m fine as is,” Q replied, wondering what on earth 007 was getting up to?
“Yes you are,” Bond agreed, laughing. Laughing! At a time like this?
Q opened his mouth to say something but Bond just sighed deeply.
“I should be getting back to my seat, see what’s on the telly. What seat again?” he mused. “Ah, yes! C3,” Bond said with a pleased smile, and Q’s eyes widened slightly before he turned back to his phone.
“Have fun,” he casually offered, or at least tried to. “007 advancing now,” he wrote to his team.
He heard Bond leave, and shrugged, taking the monitoring device out from underneath his jumper. No time to waste, even if he might be seen. But he needed the stronger connection to whatever signal he could get, and as much time to trace as possible.
“Drunk twits,” Q heard three people complaining as they streamed in almost ten minutes later. By then, the device seemed to be up and running, but nothing was detected; Q began to wonder if he should start to do a sweep of this level of the plane…
“Can’t just sit and enjoy the flight? No, they have to snap at each other.”
“I think the one is just drunk and chatty,” one laughed. “The other is just cranky and crabby.”
“Might as well join them, we’ve got a long while yet til we land, or even just go to sleep” another said, as they stood at the bar.
“Watch my drink, please,” Q said to the bartender. “Perhaps that gentleman had too much.”
The bartender nodded and moved the glass to the side as Q grabbed his devices and casually walked out the lounge, pausing past the curtained doorframe to it as if he was waiting for the toilet, which was fortunately in use.
“Can’t you see I’m in no mood to talk!” the target in seat C4 snapped at who else, but a “drunk” 007 sitting in the aisle seat next to him. Q glanced away, but as others were stealing glances at the two, he knew he’d be able to as well.
“I just can’t believe you’ve never gone fishing!” Bond slurred. “All the peace and quiet, the places you can go for it, that you can eat what you catch!” He paused. “I know, you’re probably a skier, hitting the slopes, eh?”
“None of your business,” the man snapped, looking at his phone. “I have something to attend to, if you don’t mind,” the man firmly said, clearly trying to end the conversation.
“I reckon I do, what’s so important at this time of day. Or night. Or is it morning? Bloody time zones, I lose track of time when I fly,” Bond laughed, and Q bit back a smile.
Figuring Bond was on top of whatever he was trying to do, Q moved his device to behind his body, out of sight of the two men, and walked back to his seat. Best to start from the back of the plane and move forward, he figured, soon standing by his actual seat as he informed his team he was beginning to do his first sweep.
He kept an eye on the device and an eye on the aisle as he slowly walked towards the front of the plane, heart beating faster with every unsuccessful step. How he wished the device would flash to confirm it had picked up on something, but by the time he neared the bomber’s seat, there was still nothing.
Well, nothing on the device, for the man himself was snapping at Bond to stand so he could finally move past, again stating he had something he needed to do. Q moved the device out of sight just in case, though he was still a few rows back.
“Manners!” Bond admonished.
“Manners my arse, I’m moving!” the man hissed, and Q watched as Bond held up his hands.
“Okay, hey, I’m standing, I just need a minute,” Bond slurred again, and Q saw the double-oh stand, only to sway first this way, then that, then spill his drink on the man! Several onlookers gasped as the man cursed, then launched himself at Bond. Q fought the urge to race forward, but two other men had stood from their nearby seats to do the same.
“Alright, mate, that’s enough!” one said to the bomber, reaching to pull Bond away as the bomber tried to land a punch. The fist connected with Bond’s left shoulder, and the agent pulled his right arm back to land a punch himself.
Q knew that punch; had studied it himself. It was meant to appear casual, light, but had more strength behind it than expected. Unsurprisingly, the man crumpled and fell back in his seat.
More people chimed in, crying for flight staff to come, and the crew pushed past people to try to make sense of the situation; Q could hear the commotion spreading to the rest of the plane, for whoever was awake or being woken by it.
“He hit me first, everyone saw!” Bond said, as others shared their statements agreeing with him.
But before anyone could say anything more, the plane started to turn, stronger this time than before.
“Ladies and gentlemen, this is your pilot, please take your seats,” the pilot announced, as the seatbelt sign went on. “Please take your seats and fasten your seatbelts.”
“What’s going on?” people asked. “This doesn’t feel like turbulence!”
Q cursed softly and gratefully saw one of the crew who had helped him earlier. She led him to the cockpit, where the pilots confirmed that they were given another change in flight plans. They were to not only head in the direction of more open land, but to go down to just above the altitude designated by the bomber.
“To minimize the area of destruction, less impact,” Q murmured to himself, nodding before leaving. He took out his device again and moved to finish the sweep of that level, finding again nothing.
“We’ve turned! Changed direction! What’s going on?!” people were snapping and shouting.
“This is your pilot,” the man announced. “Our apologies but there has been a slight change in flight plans due to a storm ahead. Could lead to a delay, we will keep you posted. Please take our seats and fasten your seatbelts. Flight crew, please check seatbelts.”
Bond met him as he was heading to the door to go below deck again, unsurprisingly now quite sober and focused.
“Anything?” he asked, but Q shook his head. “I searched our friend, nothing there either.”
Q raised an eyebrow. “No detonator, anything?”
Bond shook his head. “Nothing other than his cell phone, he must have stashed his passport somewhere. If he had a bag up here for the flight it’ll take time to figure out which one, everything above and around the seat has been accounted for by other passengers.”
“Time we don’t have,” Q posed. “Get my bag from my seat, bring it to the cargo hold,” he said, giving his seat location to the other man, who nodded and walked away.
Q realized he had no way to get into the locked stairwell and fetched a crew member to help him, asking her to wait for Bond to do the same.
He paused in the crew lounge area, not finding anything on his monitoring device, and took a deep breath as he went back to the main luggage hold area, knowing the bomb had to be there.
“How it got through security at Heathrow, that’s going to be a pain to figure out,” Q sighed. He started to slowly walk and sweep the area, and a moment later heard the door open. Glancing up, he saw Bond enter with Q’s bag.
“Great, let’s trade,” Q said, passing the device to Bond as he took his own bag. “Just hold it like so and walk slowly around,” Q said. He placed his bag on the floor and knelt next to it as he set about opening the locks on his bag, similar to those on his suitcase.
“Have you got a way to crack the phone then, Q?” Bond asked.
Taking out his work computer, Q waited for it to load as he plugged the bomber's phone into it. “Of course I do,” he scoffed. “I can only hope there’s not a failsafe on the phone itself that I can’t crack. Any concern of our friend waking up and trying anything?”
“Always, but I handcuffed him to his seat just in case.”
“You what?!” Q asked before he could stop himself. “You just go about carrying handcuffs?”
Bond shrugged as he walked. “You have your work toys, I have mine. Not everything is fancy technology, Q.” Bond looked over his shoulder at him and grinned. “Is that the only thing you want to know about my handcuffs?”
“That’s probably already one too many things to know,” Q said, looking at his screen as his fingers flew across his keyboard.
A set of loud beeps rang out from the monitoring device, and Bond lifted several suitcases out of their holding area, running the device over and identifying a plain grey hardshell suitcase. He gently moved it away from the others and handed the device back to Q who nodded at it, barely looking away from his screen.
“I’m nearly in,” Q said. “There! In the phone, now searching for whatever I can find...” He rubbed his forehead with a knuckle just as Q’s phone read a message aloud through the earbuds as it popped up on his computer in a separate window.
“Fuel storage has been tampered with, explosion registered in one tank. Plane is leaking fuel, will not make it to destination.”
Q cursed. “Any chance that is unrelated?” he wrote as Bond came to look over his shoulder.
“Unlikely. Bomber seeking to press for decision on ransom money.”
“Passenger on board detained, there are more bombers,” Q quickly typed. “Someone is controlling the bombs. Or there’s a timer on it?” He wrote before pausing. “Because of course a flight I’m on has more than one bomb,” he said to himself and Bond. “Just great. Was there ever even a chance of the bomb not going off?”
“If we can get rid of this one we can have the pilots make an emergency landing,” Bond posed.
Q nodded. “We just have to hope if there’s anyone else involved they don’t find out we’re defusing it. If I was on the ground and in better signal service I could track it to anything it’s connected to that’s not here, just in case. I can try to patch it to my team but I don’t have much hope right now up here,” he said as he did just that. “Leave the case unopened, to be safe,” he added, and Bond nodded.
“It’s tracking the altitude, so it’s more connected up here, which means anyone on the ground would also have plans to set it off when it’s landed if they’re trying to control it. There’s a signal, a frequency,” Q muttered to himself. “How can we disarm it?”
“Throw it off the plane?” Bond asked, and Q looked at him.
“What?”
Bond shrugged. “The altitude change will trigger it but it won’t be on the plane, so we should be safe.”
“Should isn’t good enough,” Q snapped. “The amount of explosives is unknown but still runs the risk of affecting the plane. And as we’ve got less fuel than before, where we can land is limited.”
“Fuel leak worse than expected,” the team wrote suddenly. “Landing needed in T-25. Can get to small city airport if can land safely. If bomb still active, will cruise over farmlands. Plane has continued to be tracked, teams in area on standby.”
“We’re nearly screwed either way,” Q said aloud. “If I…if I can blow the bomb’s frequency, I might be able to overload it, and if not entirely defuse it, at least get it offline for long enough for more help, or to evacuate everyone.” He looked at the other man. “But I don’t know if it will work,” he admitted. “The teams in the area might be there for cleanup than anything else.”
“We’ve no other options,” Bond told him firmly. “But I have faith in you.”
Q nodded, hoping he’d be able to give them a future in which to continue to exercise trust.
“Get us near the airport,” Q wrote to his team as he relayed it to Bond. “May have a small window to get passengers off to be safe.”
The team confirmed and a moment later the plane shifted to suggest yet another change in route.
“Runway kept clear, all planes grounded for now,” the team wrote, and Q nodded at his screen.
“Ready?” Q asked Bond, who nodded. Q took a deep breath as his fingers hovered over his keyboard to begin to run new programs, but the other man spoke first, making him pause.
“If we survive, grab a drink with me?”
Q’s head snapped up to look at 007. “What?”
Bond shrugged. “A drink, you and I. A proper one out.”
Q adjusted his glasses. “Are you seriously asking me on a date when we’re facing mortality?”
Bond shrugged again. “Is there a better time to do it?”
“I…you…fine,” Q snapped. “If we survive, buy me the strongest drink we can find,” he said, feeling his stomach warm at the thought.
“Anything you want,” Bond said, and Q nodded.
“Right, well, hold that thought,” Q said as his fingers began to fly across keys. “Keep monitoring it,” he told Bond a moment later, who drew his attention back to the frequency device. “Tell me if it loses the signal.”
Bond nodded and began to monitor, and just as the team reported T-12 to the end of fuel, the monitor stopped flashing. Q took what felt like his first breath for over ten minutes.
“That’s as much as I think I can do,” Q said aloud. “Bomb hopefully offline, plane needs to land now,” he wrote to his team.
“Airport in 6,” the team replied, and the men looked at each other.
“It might still go off,” Q admitted. “I’ve no clue what could happen.”
“We’ve done what we can,” Bond said, looking around. “There’s a hatch in this area, if it stays off when we’re near the ground I’ll take it out so the plane can continue to taxi and create more distance.”
“If it goes, it’ll take you with it!” Q said, horrified.
“If it stays off when we descend, I think it’s a good chance it won’t go off at all,” Bond countered. “Q, you’ve done your part, now this is mine.”
Q frowned but the man had a point. Before they could say anything, one of the flight crew appeared through the doorway to the crew area just as the plane appeared to begin a descent.
“Sorry, sirs, but the pilots wanted me to let you know we’re cleared to make an emergency landing, a nearby domestic airport. It’s no international hub, but emergency services are on the ground for us.”
“Very good, thank you,” Bond said with a smile, and the crew member returned it with a smaller one, clearly concerned as she looked at the suitcases pulled away from the others near them.
“Never mind of these,” Bond said. “Just needed our luggage.”
“Uh, right,” she said, blinking. “We’ll need you to take your seats for landing?”
“We’ll stay here,” Q quickly said. “We’ll be secure, thank you.”
“Are sure?” she asked, but he nodded.
“Let the pilots know this hatch will be opened, but that they shouldn’t worry,” Bond told her, and she nodded. “Oh, and the passenger I restrained, do not let him go, no matter what.”
“V-very well,” she said slowly, before slipping back out the door.
Q exhaled and ran a hand through his hair. He checked his watch for the time, but paused.
“Kick it off,” he suddenly said.
“What?”
“Kick the suitcase off, out,” Q clarified. “You needn’t go with it. And that would create more distance between us and it. We’re nearly there,” he said, as he went to his own bag to take out a small tag and put it on the bomb before going back to his computer. “It can be tracked now, so if it doesn’t detonate, search teams can find it quickly. A bomb squad should have been sent, though no clue when they’ll get here,” he muttered to himself as he alerted his team of the plan.
“You do care about me!” Bond laughed, and Q looked up only to find a warm smile that reached 007’s eyes.
“I never said I didn’t,” Q huffed.
“Careful, or I might think this was all a plan of yours to get me to ask you out.”
“A bomb I plant would be smaller and less easily defeated,” Q said before he could stop himself.
“Naturally,” Bond agreed. “Let’s get things secured again, it’s going to get rough in here.”
Q nodded and closed his computer, putting all his devices in his bag and slinging it across his body. He locked his suitcase once more, stowing everything else in it, and put it back in the holding area, with Bond bringing the webbing back to secure it.
“Go down to the end and grab on to the webbing,” Bond told him. “Hold tight.”
Q nodded, moving to the far part of the storage area and weaving his entire arm in and out of the webbing there. He checked his watch; just under 3 minutes to go until the airport airspace.
Bond nodded and moved the bomb to the hatch; Q couldn’t see much but Bond adjusted something, then kicked it. The noise was deafening, and wind whipped around the storage area as the temperature dropped.
Bond staggered slightly before moving to one side of the hatch, which Q was grateful was not a fully sized door, or he’d fear more for the other man’s safety. Though, he’d be fearful for Bond until they had landed in one piece and stayed that way…
Bond grabbed the suitcase and in one smooth motion (naturally) flung it outside before flattening himself against the wall of the plane, facing inwards. He looked at Q and nodded once, and Q nodded in response, still holding his breath.
Finally, finally the plane made a sharper descent for its final landing, and Q nearly passed out in relief as it touched down, the jostling that occurs at landing far stronger in his current location.
“Fuck, I didn’t think that would work,” he said when the plane slowed a moment later; clearly it wasn’t going to taxi to a terminal given that it wasn’t clear if there was yet another bomb on board. He unwound his arm and exhaled loudly.
“That’s half the fun of being in the field,” Bond said, smoothing his own clothes down. “Keeps you alive.”
“That’s more than I can say about this flight,” Q mused.
“Team securing bomb, captive will be taken off flight first,” the phone read into their earbuds. “Passengers to be evacuated, plane will be swept.”
“Good,” Q said aloud as he typed a response to confirm it.
“Let’s go,” Bond posed, and Q followed him out of the storage area and through the crew lounge, up the stairs and into the main area of the plane, where they slipped out through the curtain and into the line of passengers moving off the plane, ignoring any curious looks sent their way.
Bond stood behind Q in line, a hand on the small of Q’s back as they advanced and finally exited the plane, walking down the boarding stairs in the cold night air.
“Oh, solid ground!” Q groaned gratefully. “I’ve missed it! I never want to leave it again, ever.”
Bond laughed. “I’m not sure M will agree, but I’ll see if I can pull some strings,” he said as they followed the other passengers being directed to board airport buses, as the terminals themselves were quite a walk from the runway they had landed on. “In the meantime…” Bond began, as they found a pair of seats and sat side by side. He reached up and took Q’s earbud out of his ear, then his own, putting them in a pocket.
“We need to debrief,” Q reminded him.
“We’ve got time,” Bond said, shrugging. “For now, we’ve got plans to figure out.”
Q laughed, a strange action after everything that night. “We do,” he agreed. “I suppose if my team is any good they’ll figure out where we are,” he posed, and Bond grinned.
“That’s the spirit. Now about that drink…"