Chapter Text
Q took a last glance around his office to make certain he had everything they would need – tech, tools, files, and plans. It would certainly not do to leave behind something of vital import. Returning for anything was not going to be an option.
His fingers flew across the keyboard and he locked down access to his personal server. Pocketing the keys to his desk and supply cabinets, he nodded. A good locksmith – and MI6 employed plenty – could access them readily enough, but any delay combined with a lack of understanding regarding his normal organisational methods should impede full comprehension of exactly what he’d taken. If all went according to plan, it would be a few days, maybe a week before all the dots were connected. Plenty of time.
Picking up his Scrabble mug, he turned it in his hand and found himself subconsciously fondling it. A small smile turned up the corners of his mouth and his eyes closed for a brief moment as he touched the mug to his lips before putting it back on his desk decisively. The mug represented his identity as the MI6 Quartermaster. He would miss it, but taking his mug was out of the question. It would be far too obvious were it gone.
Instead he hefted his bag, manoeuvring the strap over his neck and shoulder so that the bulk of it rested against his hip, the strap reaching diagonally across his chest and back. The bag was much heavier than normal, filled with tech, tools, and a few vital half-finished projects. Even so, it was just one bag – the same bag he carried to and from Headquarters each day. No one would even look twice.
“Q”, Bond’s velvet voice murmured in his ear. A shiver slid down Q’s spine. The clarity of the newly modified, high-definition audio of the mini earwig prototypes he had been working on was excellent. It literally sounded as though Bond was standing immediately behind Q with his lips at Q’s ear. He could almost imagine he felt Bond’s breath ghost over his skin.
“Yes, James?” Q kept his voice carefully modulated and imagined Bond having a similarly visceral response. The slight catch of breath and momentary pause before Bond’s response made the scenario likely.
“En route to the Armoury.”
“I’ll meet you there.”
Without looking back again, he exited and closed the door to his office, locking it as he did each night. This time, however, he activated a custom override that would lock everyone out while seeming to just be a glitch in the lock itself. Expression distracted and gaze intentionally distant, Q crossed the command centre and bullpen. With any luck, no one would interrupt his progress. He was almost to the main door when Ruksana called out, “Q?”
Fighting to conceal his alarm, Q turned a carefully impassive and slightly irritated face to her. “Yes, Ruksana?”
“Should I be expecting 007? He’s scheduled to leave on mission to Myanmar tonight.” Her dark eyes were wide and gleamed with excitement at the prospect of interacting with MI6’s most notorious Double O. Q could hardly blame her for the reaction; after all, Bond was almost exclusively handled by Q and had been for months, to hell with regulations regarding conflicts of interest. Work was work. Their personal life was something else entirely.
Q knew he had to be cautious in how he replied. Ruksana was a sharp tech and a fast learner, her quick mind easily able to keep up with Q’s more esoteric explanations and designs. He would miss their discussions. Like most of the female population of MI6 though, Ruksana had a bit of a crush on Agent 007. Early on Q had felt threatened by the sheer size of the pool of ‘competition,’ but then he realised there was no competition after all. Apart from the occasional courteous smile or mild flirting to obtain a favour, Bond rarely even looked twice at anyone but Q.
Pressing his mouth in a thin line, Q shook his head, almost sorry to shatter her dreams. “I’m afraid not. I’m heading over to meet with him now. I have his mission kit.” Q patted his bag and gave her a quirked smile before turning once more to leave. He needed to get out of there before his nerves got the better of him and he royally buggered everything.
“Good night, Ruksana. You have the con.”
~~~~~
Bond was leaning casually against the wall next to the door to the Armoury, his bespoke suit looking like he had just left his tailor rather than having put in what was easily a ten hour workday. Q’s breath caught. How did he do that?
Self-consciously, Q dragged his fingers through the unruly locks of hair that poked out every which way from his own head and marvelled once again that luck or fate or whatever – probably Tanner, if he was perfectly honest – had caused his path and Bond’s to cross at the National Gallery that day. Tugging at the hem of his buttoned cardigan Q wished, not for the first time, that his look were more polished and that he and Bond together didn’t constantly look like a spectacularly mismatched blind date.
A smile curved Bond’s mouth as he watched Q’s discomfited approach and he pushed off the wall to step directly into Q’s path.
Warm hands cupped Q’s face as Bond’s lips assaulted his and Bond’s body backed Q against the wall. He snogged Q until his eyes fell closed and all coherent thoughts fled Q’s overactive brain.
Tongues tangled and teeth nipped, soft moans echoed in the empty hall. Q couldn’t say whose moans they were. Most likely they were his; Bond had a tendency to draw them unwittingly from him. It was a talent, really – one Q was more than willing to let Bond practise to perfection, so long as he didn’t stop. When Bond pulled back, Q followed instinctively, lips parted and eyes still closed, seeking to further the sensual pleasure that kissing Bond always was.
“Q.”
“Mmm, yes, James?”
“Q. Focus.”
Unwillingly Q pulled himself back to focus on the reality of why they were standing here outside the Armoury. “Right. Schedule. Plan. Supplies. Got it.”
Swaying slightly and still somewhat off-balance, Q turned to disengage a complicated series of locks that included a swipe of his ID badge, thumb and retinal scans, voice recognition, and finished with an eleven digit code entered on the numeric keypad. As the door’s locking mechanism released with a series of audible clicks, Q grinned at the expression of stunned disbelief on Bond’s face.
“Seriously, Q? Don’t you think that might be…I don’t know…overkill?”
“That depends on if we want to access my latest and greatest, now doesn’t it?” Q pushed the door open, tilting his head and motioning for Bond to precede him.
Raising an eyebrow, Bond picked up the duffel at his feet and stepped inside.
The motion-activated lights came up as Bond entered. He stopped a few steps in, turning and looking expectantly at the brushed steel cabinets that lined the walls. Q ignored the cabinets he normally used to outfit his agents for missions and stepped around Bond to lead the way to the workbench along the back wall.
Effortlessly raising the top of the workbench Q revealed a compartment filled with cases similar to the one he had given Bond that long-ago day at the National Gallery. This was where he kept his newest inventions before they became standard fare for use in the field. No one else was even aware of this treasure trove.
Already knowing what was in each case intimately, Q didn’t even pause before he began selecting different cases and handing them to Bond. When Bond hesitated over the first one, clearly wanting to look inside, Q placed a hand over Bond’s, preventing him from opening the case.
“Not here,” he said softly and looked meaningfully at the duffel bag, once again sitting at Bond’s feet.
Bond nodded silently and started loading the duffel.
Holding one last case, Q closed the workbench top, a slight hydraulic hiss sounding as the lock sealed once more. Q opened his bag and slid the last case inside, withdrawing a sealed envelope. Securing the bag’s fasteners once more, he looked soberly at Bond, who was zipping the now mostly full duffel. “Ready?”
“Ready.” Bond easily hefted the duffel in his left hand and Q was reminded yet again of the strength of this man. His man. Bond stared at Q for a moment, then. “Are you sure—?”
Q cut him off with a kiss, his tongue teasing its way inside Bond’s mouth for a last lingering taste. Regretfully, Q ended the kiss and stepped back. “I’m sure. Anyway, it’s done. We need to go. Now,” he emphasised.
A frown flickered across Bond’s face and then was gone.
Q pressed the envelope into Bond’s hand and gave him a brief smile that he knew didn’t reach his eyes. “Your tickets and IDs, James. I’ll see you soon.”
Bond returned Q’s smile precisely, all emotion now locked away. “Take care, Q.”
Q opened the Armoury door once more and exited after Bond, stopping just outside the door to ensure the locks had reengaged properly. By the time he looked up again, Q was alone in the hallway, Bond having vanished silently. A butterfly of unease flickered in the vicinity of Q’s stomach. He squashed it and pulled his tablet out as he started for the lifts.
As he walked, Q accessed the MI6 CCTV network and replaced the Armoury and hallway footage records with the loops he had edited earlier in the day, eradicating all trace of his and Bond’s visit. By the time he stepped onto the arriving lift, Q was certain no one would be able to tell the videos had been altered. There were definite benefits to being the most technologically gifted person at MI6.
Fifteen minutes later Q was outside, on the street walking away from MI6 towards the Vauxhall Tube station and the carefully cultivated anonymity beyond.
Really, MI6 had been a good run while it lasted.
~~~~~