Chapter Text
A hush descended across the Division, a wave that rolled across the branch silencing the shifting sands that flowed around Q busily but quietly getting on with their duties.
This could only mean one of three things:
There was a Double-O in the room, Q had momentarily lost his hearing or, their glorious leader was gracing Division with her presence. Out of the three scenarios, Q could only hope—.
But then again, there never was much hope but a fool's hope.
“Good morning, Quartermaster.” He closed his eyes and resisted taking a deep breath before turning around with a well-trained and respectful smile on his face. Don’t overdo it, Q. She may look like your favourite granny but the woman is a mongoose.
“Ma’am. To what do we owe the pleasure?”
She gave him a tight-lipped smile. Uh-oh.
“Just passing through, Q.” The likelihood of M passing through anything without good cause was akin to the Pontiff taking a pitstop in a brothel.
“Always a pleasure to see you,” he said, with the practised sincerity of a devoted MI employee.
Villiers was hovering behind her, giving nothing away. Q resisted the urge to look directly at him, maintaining soft eye contact with his superior. He fleetingly wondered what it must be like to be at the beck-and-call of the most powerful woman in MI6. Probably as much fun as being in a car with Bond without a seatbelt, he imagined.
She stepped up beside him and absorbed the data flowing across his main screen. The woman missed nothing. Good job Q had nothing to hide. No thanks to Bond, he thought to himself wryly.
“I understand 004 is in Budapest and 007 is meeting with our Chinese contact in Paris.” She trained her gaze levelly on him again. Impressive in itself, given she was a good twenty centimetres shorter than him. “Is that correct?”
She knew full bloody well it was correct. “Yes, Ma’am.” He looked back at the screen. “They are in silent mode at the moment but 007 should come online in three minutes, 004 in approximately ten. I’m currently monitoring both agents movements.”
“I’m sure you are,” she deadpanned, ice-pick blue gaze, boring into his own. To his credit, Q didn’t flinch. Well, one didn’t become the Quartermaster of MI6 without a little self-control and a bugger-ton of composure, did one?
She looked over her shoulder, Villiers shadow-like response to move to one side smooth as a cat. “R,” she barked.
The girl glided forward and was next to her before Q barely had time to blink. Good girl.
If M was here to seek out kinks in the armour of Q Division, he hoped she was going to be very gratified to find none.
“Yes, Ma’am.”
“Take the helm, will you? I need to have a word with Q.”
“Of course, Ma’am.”
As M turned away, Q fell into step beside her. “As you can imagine, Q, I had to dance a merry tango for my superiors over Bond’s little adventure in Tel Aviv.” She turned to him then. “Ably assisted by you, I might add.”
Well, there was no use denying it. It was a fact. “Yes, Ma'am. Though in my defence, I felt a rogue agent under supervision was marginally less of a threat to MI6 than left to his own devices.”
She stopped then and turned to face him an appraising but otherwise unreadable look on her face. “Don’t think for one second I condone such a rampant and wholly unacceptable breach in the chain of command and use of intelligence resources, Q.”
“Not even for one fraction of said second. Ma’am,” he replied without hesitation.
“Quite.” She strolled away, Villiers scurrying after her. “Keep up the good work,” she said sharply.
Q took a breath. “Ma’am.” Turning on his heel he moved with confident precision back to his post. “Thank you, R,” he said with a smile, “you can stand down,” he nodded to her as he picked up the headset.
Bond’s voice arrived smooth and clear in his ear. “Good morning, Q. Sleep well I trust?”
“Like a top, 007. Ready and raring to go. Shall we dance?”
“Only if I can lead,” he said, amusement in his voice.
“Don’t you always…”