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Published:
2012-12-22
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2012-12-22
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A Little Experiment

Summary:

Bond is given some time off after Skyfall. He has something to test out and Q is the perfect subject.

Notes:

Original Male Character who isn’t really original because he’s sort of based on Charles Ryder from Brideshead Revisited and (story spoiler) that scene is based on this post.

Chapter Text

 -=-00Q-=-

            Q was standing at his desk, his black hair dangling into his eyes as he busied himself with checking and rechecking the security in place around Silva’s glass prison. There were no blind spots. The main computer wasn’t giving any indication of a breech. Every security feature, camera, lock, and guard was checking out as fully operational. There shouldn’t have been a single worry, but this was Silva, the man who blew up MI6 headquarters with a couple lines of code. Q wasn’t taking any chances.

            "Q." 

            Bond’s deep baritone sounded from behind him, nearly making him jump. Even in the very literal middle of a room filled with people and security cameras, Bond still somehow found a way to creep up on him.

            Q shook his head. He really needed a cup of tea. Darjeeling or Earl Grey? Earl Grey had more caffeine.

            Earl Grey it is then, Q thought.

            "007," he said in greeting. It was curt, but he honestly wasn’t in the mood to deal with Bond. When he wasn’t being annoying he was infuriating. Needless to say Q wasn’t looking forward to getting to know agent 007.

            Q turned and looked back to see Bond standing there, his face ever a mask of emotion. He seemed fairly calm for a man who’d just been kidnapped and possibly tortured by Silva and his gang. Q had been told to expect that odd sort of demeanour from the double-0 agents.

            Bond cocked his head to the side slightly and gracefully slid his hands into his pockets. "Could I have a word?" he asked, nodding towards the door to the lab. He didn’t give even the slightest hint if it was going to be a good word or a bad word in his tone. Q expected he’d just be getting excuses about why Bond had returned with only a broken radio and no gun.

            He rolled his eyes and brought his attention back to the overhead screen. It wasn’t worth putting off his work, so he waved the request aside. "I'm working, what's this about?" he demanded, going back to his programming work, typing away at the keyboard. He could practically feel Bond smirking behind him.

            "A little experiment."

            It was the simple yet intriguing response.

            Q’s fingers paused over the keys, his eyes snapping over to Bond curiously. It seemed the man knew how to pique his interest. With a long relenting sigh, Q stopped what he was doing and walked out of the lab with the agent leading the way.

-=-

            "An experiment… in a broom cupboard," Q drawled, as Bond closed the door behind them. With his hands on his hips, Q looked around the relatively well lit, but empty storage space. “Well I can’t say I was expecting a controlled environment, 007.”

            Q passed into the small space. “What sort of experiment…” He stopped abruptly, feeling a slight warmth behind. Q turned around to find Bond standing much too close for comfort. “007?”

            Completely deadpan, Bond crowded Q back until he had him pressed between his much larger body and the wall. It was outrageous behaviour, but Q went along with it. He could only assume it was all part of whatever Bond was testing out. A scare tactic perhaps? He frowned up at Bond. If the man didn't let on about what was going on soon, Q wasn’t going to keep playing nice.

            “What’s all this about?” he demanded.

            Bond didn’t answer, but his hands came out of his pockets. Slowly, he brought them up to Q’s tie, and loosened it. Q hadn’t properly buttoned his shirt so as soon as his tie was no longer holding the fabric together it parted, leaving a deep V of skin exposed.

            Bond didn’t stop there – he was only getting started. He ran his fingers lightly over Q's collarbone before ghosting them up his long, pale neck. Circling one finger around Q's Adam apple, he felt how his muscle there moved, how it bobbed when Q swallowed anxiously.

            "007?" Q whispered breathlessly. He couldn’t gage what was happening; Bond’s expression remained totally neutral.

            The agent’s hand was on Q's face now, caressing his cheek gently. Bond’s thumb just barely ran along the curve of those Q’s thin, red lips. His touch was gentle, barely a whisper above the skin.

            "007?" Q repeated, more assertive this time. The onslaught on his senses had him quivering. He was bringing to suspect the double-0 agent had gone mad. Q’s suspicion seemed to be confirmed when Bond dropped both hands to run open palms up his slender thighs. He sucked in a sharp breath.

            Bond applied a pressure that he hadn't used before. He’d always imagined his hands could practically wrap around Q’s slim thighs. Moving in closer, he slid his hands around to grip the backs of Q's upper thighs and he squeezed ever so slightly. Still, the surprise of it had Q jolting up onto his toes.

            "Bond!" Q yelled just as Bond reached the slight curve of his rear.

            The cry forced Bond back into some semblance of reality. He released Q gently his hands sliding up the young man's sides to calm him down.

            “There now.” Bond's face displayed no emotion. Still, Q swore he could see the tiniest smirk breaking through from behind that mask of his.

            "What the bloody hell is this about, 007?" Q hissed in his best attempt to return to his normal authoritative work mode.

            "Interesting."

            "Don’t ignore…” Q stopped and cocked his head to the side. “Wait, what’s interesting?"

            "Your reaction,” Bond replied. “I wanted to see how a normal person would react to this type of touch. Wanted to know exactly what reaction Silva was trying to get from me." Bond said with a shrug. “So I needed to test it on someone willing with less field experience.” He was once again running his fingertips along Q's collarbone.

            "Stop that!" Q moved to slap his hand away, but Bond was too quick. He snatched his hand back before Q’s hit landed.

            "You don't like it?" Bond asked monotonously, as if he were simply collecting intel as usual.

            "I- well... I wouldn't… I don’t appreciate being cornered like that, 007." Q’s eyes shifted anxiously. What was he supposed to say? I’m actually quite fond of your touch; you see I have a thing for older, more mature, sexy, blond, secret agent type men. Just the thought almost made Q blush and look down at his feet.

            Bond hummed thoughtfully. "I suppose a different but similar reaction would occur if you did or didn't like it." Again his fingers were caressing Q's neck. "Shortness of breath, flushing of the skin, tensing of the muscles. They could be signs of either."

            Q looked down at the floor and crossed his arms over his chest. He was trying to pretend that he was listening to Bond as though his research was intriguing in some way. But it was hard with the man standing so…

            Bond moved in closer. 

            "Which was it for you, Q?" he asked carefully.

            "I-" Q stopped. He couldn’t speak. No snide remarks or repartees. Words just seemed to escape him. His chest tightened; he could hardly breath. The heated air between them was thick with tension. Q knew the situation was beyond endurance when he actually started to sweat.

            Defensively and with more success this time, he switched back into work mode. "I have to get back to the lab. Good afternoon, 007." With that said Q pushed past Bond and left the man in the closet.

            As Q marched back to the lab, he didn’t really take the time to wonder if the other agents passing in the hall thought that was a bit unusual for their Quartermaster to be exiting a closet looking so thoroughly despoiled.

-=-

            Later that day, Silva escaped.         

            They told him there was nothing anyone could have done.

            Despite Q’s diligence and the amount of security software set up, his virus had managed to access every corner of their system as soon as it went online.

            It was chaos, but in the end Bond managed to take the criminal down as he always did.

            At a price.

-=-

            The mission, which had been fittingly entitled ‘Skyfall’, was a success… of sorts. Q didn’t see Bond again until long after everything was over. He didn’t attend the debrief. He didn’t return his gear. One of those things wasn’t all that surprising… but Q still found himself worrying. He knew it was ridiculous, worrying about a man who was over a decade older than him with years of experience in the field.

            It was nearly two weeks since the incident with Silva, nearly a week since M's funeral. Bond showed up at the new MI6 headquarters to meet the new M, formerly simply Gareth Mallory. Q didn’t run into him that day, but he heard from Moneypenny that Bond had only been around in the morning. She obviously had an inside scoop because Bond didn’t show up the next day at all.

            Q went home, not thinking much of it. He made himself a cup of tea and finished up a few tech patents before turning of his laptop and going to bed. Q fell asleep reading a new novel by David Mitchell. Just past midnight, he was woken up by a blinking red light on his alarm clock.

            His silent alarm.

            There was someone in his flat.

-=-

            Q crept down his own darkened hallway, a gun at the ready in his trembling hands – MI6 employee government issued. He’d never shot anyone, and he wasn’t planning to. But he was hoping he could use the weapon to scare whoever it was out of his flat… he could only pray that it was just some average thieves.

            He didn’t turn on any of the lights as he tiptoed into his small kitchen. He didn’t really need to. It was his house; he had the layout memorized. There was no sign of anyone so far, but he didn’t want them sneaking up on him. He’d much prefer it the other way around.

            There was no one in the kitchen, so he moved to the archway that separated it from the living room. He heard a slight sound like the clinking of ice in a glass and focused his aim towards his couch. He was about to speak, but just as he opened his mouth, the lamp on the end table was switched on.

            "So these are the famous pyjamas I've heard all about." Bond said over the rim of a short glass filled with some copper coloured liquid. “I see they’re that same ghastly tartan colour as your workpants… have you been wearing your jammies to the office, Q?”

            Q stared at the man in disbelief. Bond, having somehow broken into his flat, was just sitting there on his couch. He looked nothing like any double-0 agent Q was used to seeing at work. Bond had forgone the suit and instead wore a navy-blue jumper with a plain collared shirt underneath and grey trousers. He didn’t look as dressed up as usual but he’d hardly dressed down.

            Bond took another sip of his drink and then tilted his glass towards Q. “You should put that down before you hurt yourself.”

            Q lowered his gun with a relieved, but frustrated sigh. "What are you doing in my flat, 007?" He looked towards the living room windows, expecting the agent to have somehow scaled in. They didn’t seem to have been tampered with. “How did you even get in here? I thought you were a burglar.”

            “Just a burglar, hm?” Bond chuckled, ignoring the questions. He wasn’t one to give away his secrets so easily. "Aren't you going to offer me a cup of tea?"

            "It's past midnight, I wouldn't want to keep you up since you won’t be staying long," came Q's sarcastic reply. "Besides, I see you've already found my scotch, do help yourself."

            James looked at the glass in his hand and smirked. “I’ll buy you a new bottle,” he promised.

            Q rolled his eyes and carefully set his gun down on a bookshelf.

            "Speaking of finding things,” Bond said abruptly, drawing Q’s attention back towards him. “I also found your passport... Geoffrey Boothroyd." Bond smirked, tossing the thing onto the glass topped table. “How posh.”

            “Bond!” Q stared wide-eyed at him, aghast. "Did you go through my drawers?!"

            "I believe you dropped it in the sofa." Bond said just before he took another sip of scotch. “Really I’d say I did you a favour by fishing it out. You’re welcome.”

            “Well…” Bond’s phlegmatic manner had Q flustered more than usual. It must have been because it was the middle of the night. How was Q supposed to react when his mental faculties were shot from sleep deprivation.

            "You still haven't answered my first question!" Q glared at the agent on his couch, getting back to the issue at hand. "You think just because I allowed you to... to fondle me – I haven’t forgotten that by the way - without going to one of our superiors with a sexual harassment complaint means you can just break into my flat on a whim?"

            Bond looked up at Q with a blank expression.

            After a long pause, during which Bond took a nonchalant sip of scotch, he finally gave a response.

            “Would you like me to make the tea then?”

            It was a response; grant you, not a proper one.

            Q let out a frustrated noise and padded barefoot into his kitchen. Fuck it. He was awake now and he definitely could use a cup of tea.

-=-

            “Would you like me to call you Geoffrey from now on?” Bond asked from where he was leaning in the kitchen doorframe.

            Q let out a laugh that mostly came out though his nose. “Good lord no, I much prefer Q.” He shot Bond a look over one shoulder. “Besides, as I am technically your superior in her majesties’ secret service, you’d actually have to refer to me as Major Boothroyd.” Q couldn’t help but smile when behind him he heard a quiet chuckle mixed with the words ‘get fucked’.

            “What about when we’re not at work?”

            Q frowned down at the kettle when Bond said that. What did he mean ‘when we’re not a work’? This was the first not at work Bond experience Q had ever had, and he was hoping there wouldn’t be a repeat anytime soon.

            “I’m quite used to everyone I know from work calling me Q outside the office,” he explained.

            Bond cocked his head to one side. “Q it is then.”

            The way he said it made Q laugh. Well, it was either that or the lack of sleep.

            “What are you doing here, 007?” Q said with a sleepy smile.

            Bond rolled his eyes. “We’re not at work, Q.”

            Q cleared his throat and tried again. “What are you doing here, Bond?” He prided himself on the look of disappointment that crossed over Bond’s face. What was he expecting? They were hardly on first name terms. “I assume it’s not for my scotch?”

            Bond sighed. “Where do I put this?” He shook the left over ice in his tumbler.

            “Sink.” Q nodded, gesturing towards it. “Now answer my question before I call M.”

            Bond paused for the briefest of moments. He then pointed to the kettle just as it clicked off and finished boiling. “Tea first.”

            Q grit his teeth, trying very hard not to scream at the agent. Somehow he passive aggressively made the tea and handed a mug to Bond. Before the man could say his thanks, Q had already pushed past him back into the living room. Bond followed behind him at a leisurely pace. They sat down on the couch in silence and waited for their tea to cool down slightly. Bond set his mug down on the table while Q cupped his with both hands and gently blew over the top.

            “Apparently I’m in mourning,” Bond said suddenly, causing Q to look over at him with an expression of surprise. If Bond was one thing, he was stoic. It as unusually for him to claim to be feeling… well, anything; not even that he was tired after being worked to half-to-death in training.

            “This wasn’t my verdict it was the psychologists at HQ… he already thinks I’m mad so I’ve not argued with him this time,” Bond explained, actually sounding a bit annoyed. “I’ve been sentenced to six weeks paid leave, not including the two weeks I already took off.”

            “Oh. Well that’s good isn’t it?” Bond needed time to recuperate, even if he didn’t think so himself. If he didn’t get some time to himself, well… there was a new apprehensive air throughout the office that their esteemed 007 could easily go the way of Silva.

            Bond let out a weary sigh. His head dropped against the back of the couch. “I’m already bored,” he muttered. He looked around the room as if searching for something to entertain himself with and inevitable his eyes fell on Q’s gun on the bookshelf and then – with a second thought - on Q himself.

            Q’s eyes narrowed as he stared back at Bond. He frowned into his tea as it dawned on him why Bond had turned up out of the blue. “You’re bored?” He glowered at the man next to him. “Wait… you broke into my flat because you’re bored?”

            Bond looked over at Q and shrugged with the nonchalance of a man who thought breaking and entering was perfectly acceptable practice.

            “It’s the middle of the night. Couldn’t you have done something that normal people do in the middle of the night. Like sleep?”

            “Couldn’t sleep,” Bond replied as he kicked his feet up onto the coffee table.

            Q shot him a questioning look. “… masturbate?”

            Upon hear that, Bond did something Q wasn’t expecting; he laughed. A single ‘ha!’ that nearly had Q jumping out of his seat. “Never thought I’d hear a suggestion like that from the head of Q-branch.” He smirked devilishly.

            “Masturbation,” Q started in a serious tone, “is incredibly good for your health. Not just your immune system, but your stress and hormone levels as well, among other things.”

            Bond was smirking the entire time Q explained this. “You forgot to mention it feels bloody fantastic,” he chuckled

            Q chocked on his tea. “Well,” he said, quickly changing the subject, “as lovely as it’s been seeing you doing so very well, Bond, I need to work in the morning.”

            “Is that my cue to leave?” Bond asked as Q stood from the couch. “I haven’t even finished my tea.”

            Q shot him an irritated glance. “I didn’t exactly invite you over, Bond. I don’t think the rules of hospitality and good-host etiquette apply here.” He stopped talking and let out a long sigh. “I’m sorry, I need to sleep. Work, you know how it is.”

            “I do.”

            Q wrapped his arms around himself and looked around, anywhere but at the man taking up room on his sofa. “Just let yourself out… however you got in.” With that said, Q left the living room. As he reached the threshold back into the kitchen, he was about to shut off the light as he always did, but caught himself when he remembered Bond would still be there for a while longer drinking his tea.

            “Goodnight, Q.”

            Q looked over his shoulder to see Bond staring at him. He tilted his head at the sincerity of the expression. Then he saw Bond’s lips twitch up into a sly smile.

            “I do hope you’re nice and snug in your jammies, darling.”

            Q scoffed. “Grow up, 007.”

-=-

            The next morning, Q woke up about an hour later than usual. He was only just on time for work and when he arrived at his desk, Moneypenny was standing there waiting for him.

            “I’m surprised,” she said, as she pushed off his desk and came towards him. “You’re usually the first one on staff in Q-branch. Something wrong?”

            Q simply shrugged, too tired to come up with a witty retort. He draped his jacket over the back of his chair before turning to Moneypenny. “I’m sorry to have kept you waiting.”

            Moneypenny raised a fine black brow. “It’s alright, I’ve only been here a minute. M just wanted a word as soon as you got in. His office.” She walked past him.

            Q sighed. “Thank you, I’ll be there shortly.”

-=-

            “Q.” M said in greeting as the young department head came through the door. “I got a call from 007; you need to take a bit of time off.” He looked down at the books.

            “007? That’s ridiculous, what would he know?” Q was taken aback. He looked around the M’s new office for cameras, like someone was playing a joke on him.

            M gestured for Q to take a seat, which he did hesitantly. “Well, it is a bit difficult to keep agents in check when they’re not working; I thought you could help,” Q didn’t like what M was insinuating when he said that, “and it may actually be a good idea if you take some time off. Skyfall was a tense mission… for all of us.”

            “Yes, but… but time off?” Q shook his head in disbelief. “That is preposterous, M. Do you know how much work I have to do? Watching agents isn’t my only job; I actually need to devote a lot of time to fixing the equipment they’ve destroyed as well. Not to mention the new equipment in production!” Q forced himself to pause and let out a deep breath to keep from shouting.

            “M,” he started calmly, “I do not have time to take off.”

            “Ah…” M was frowning down at the files on his desk, flipping through the pages searching for information that wasn’t there. “I wasn’t aware of that.”

            “Well, you’re new,” Q said with a shrug.

            “Oh, do shut up, Q.” M chuckled. He closed the ledgers on his desk and placed them in a neat pile. “Now tell me. If I only cut your work with the field agents how much free time does that give you?”

            Q crossed his arms over his chest. “My work with field agents tends to be sporadic, but at least six or seven hours off a fourteen hour day.”

            “We work you hard in Q-branch, do we?” M brow raised into an expectant crease.

            Q cocked his head to one side. He stared M down, eyes dismissive behind his glasses. “Nothing I can’t handle.”

            “Alright then.” M pulled open a drawer and flipped open a schedule planner he pulled from inside. “I’m taking you off your duties to the field for the next four weeks, I’ll have you choose who you’d like to replace you of course. Moneypenny will write up the paperwork, but how this is going to work is I want you here in the morning as per usual, you can work on anything in the labs not related to currently active missions. I want you to have a month free of stress, Q.” M smirked. “You’re new as well, if I’m not mistaken, and I don’t want you going anywhere.”

            “So…” Q swallowed the new information. “Will I still be working my regular hours, just not with the field agents?” He could go for that, same hours less stress. There were so many projects just waiting to be built down in the lab.

            “Oh lord no, I want you out of here at lunch for the next month. Surely a young man like you has a whole list of things you want to get done that you’ve been putting off because of work.” M was smiling at him, but all Q could think was, ‘No. Not really.

            Q bit back a scowl directed at M. He knew he couldn’t really argue so he just stood from the chair, ready to leave. “Does this start today?” he mumbled.

            “I’ll let you tie off any loose ends you’ve been working on, but yes.” M walked around his desk and gave Q a firm pat on the shoulder. “Try to relax, Q.”

            Relax. Q could almost laugh. He found his work relaxing. The surrealisms of everything that went on in MI6 helped him deal with all the anxiety of real life. All of his problems look ever so small when he had a man on the other line with a gun pressed against the back of his skull.

            No, it was not be a going to be a good month.

-=-

            When Q walked through the door to his flat, he could already see Bond sitting there on his couch. “Seriously,” he muttered to himself. After the day he had, knowing that for the next month he was going to be able to do any work in the office for more than five hours a day.

            “Good day at work, sweetie?” Bond asked, smirking when Q turned around to shuck off his coat and hang it up.

            When Q turned back around to face him, his expression had already returned to its usual expressionlessness. “I’m really not in the mood.” Q looked around his flat with a frown. “My door hasn't been opened, did you break in again?”

            “I brought dinner,” Bond said, ignoring his question as usual.  

            Q could almost forgive Bond when he smelled that this was true. He walked into his and found a Chinese takeaway spread out across the little two-seater table.

            “I guess that means you approve?” Bond had got up from the couch and followed him into the kitchen.

            Q didn’t realize, but he’d let out a low moan at the fact that he wasn’t going to have to make himself dinner. “Yes,” he hissed in reply.

            “Shall we?” Bond gestured to the table and the two of them sat down to eat.

            “So,” Q started, pointing at the man across from him with a set of chopsticks, “what’s with you and trying to get me time off work?”

            Bond looked up from his food. He stared at Q and took a bite, chewing slowly.

            After a long moment, Q broke the awkward eye contact. He shook his head and continued eating as well. This was Bond; Q should have known he wasn’t going to be getting a straight answer.

-=-

            Bond turned up every day after that. Thankfully he started appearing in Q’s flat when he got home from work rather than in the middle of the night. Other times Bond was outside the MI6 office the precise moment Q got off at lunch.

            “Surely you have some poor woman to salivate on,” Q asked him one day.

            “That’s not a kink I’m familiar with,” Bond replied curtly. The corner of his lip twitched when Q glared at him.

            “You know what I meant,” Q sighed, annoyed. Bored, he let his eyes wander around the room. Bond had somehow convinced him to eat out with him at one of his favourite restaurants. The place was a bit posh for Q's taste. He felt underdressed in his work clothes, but it was a Tuesday at lunch so at least there weren’t many people around. Bond was sitting across from him at their two-seat table by a grand window overlooking the city. There was a candle on the table between then and everything. Q stared at it and rolled his eyes. How romantic.

            Bond took a sip of the martini he’d ordered – in the middle of the afternoon. “I’ve not been in the mood,” he answered honestly.

            Q frowned at him. “James Bond is not in the mood? Energy depleted, old man?” he asked with a smirk. “If you taking me out for lunch is any sign, you seriously need to get back out into the field – and I mean that in both the sense of doing your actual job and the urban sense.”

            His words seemed to pique Bond. The agent’s eyes narrowed slightly. "What about you? I haven’t seen you do much besides go to work and come home.” he raised a fine blond brow. “Why have you not brought anyone back to yours?”

            “Well, you’re always there.” Q shrugged and took a sip of the tea he’d ordered. Stupid choice when he thought about it, paying for something he could easily have a home for free.

            Bond eyed Q over the rim of his martini glass. “I would leave if you needed.”

            Q let out a quiet laugh. “Sure,” he murmured, placing his cup back in its saucer.

             “I’m serious.”

            “Mm hm. I’ll keep that in mind.” Q cleared his throat and put on a voice. “Bond, could you not show up at my flat this evening, I’m on the pull.” He smirked when he saw Bond obviously had to bite back a smile.

            The agent took a sip of his drink, trying to hard hide it.

            “Don’t worry.” Q sighed. “It won’t be a problem.”

            Bond raised a fine brow. “Are you sure?”

            Q nodded. “I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself.” he replied. With that said, he had to fight back a teasing grin as the man across from him started coughing on his martini mid sip.

-=-

            Two weeks into his time off, Bond was on edge. The man was becoming restless. Q came home one evening to fine his freezer stocked with two types of vodka and a pack of beer in his fridge. Needless to say, Bond had been drinking… a lot. But, it seemed to be mellowing him out so Q didn’t pry. He closed the fridge door and started making tea.

            With two mugs and a full teapot in hand, Q made his way into the living room where the agent was sulking on his couch with a beer.

            “Are you feeling alright, Bond?” he asked, setting the pot on the coffee table.

            The agent groaned as he took a sip, finishing the bottle. “This is just like after I was shot all over again,” he murmured in response. “I’m so fucking bored… grab me another beer would you.”

            “I made tea.” Q bit back a smile when another groan was his only response. “Look, you can’t survive on Heineken and Vodka for the rest of the month.”

            “Speak for yourself.”

            “Bond.” Q watched the agent with an worried expression.

            Bond closed his eyes. He sat up straight and rested his head in his hands, elbows on his knees for a moment. With a sigh, he mussed his own hair.

            “Go on then.” Bond murmured as he lifted his head, looking up at Q with weary eyes.

            Q pursed his lips and poured the tea before joining Bond on the couch. It had become their routine. If Bond wasn’t outside MI6 at lunch, he was in Q’s flat. When Q got home, he made them a pot of tea. They drank the tea then Q did some work on his laptop while Bond mixed himself a drink. Q went to bed and Bond left… presumably.

            Tonight though, Q didn’t feel like leaving Bond alone just to go finish writing up the specs on his latest gadget. He sat with the man, long after dinner and the remaining tea had gone cold.

            “I’m surprised you don’t have a list of things to do now that you have a break from being shot at,” Q speculated. He realized the irony of the fact that that he was repeating M’s earlier words to him.

            “I do, but a large portion of that list is hampered due to M cutting off my flight clearance. I can’t actually leave London right now without taking a bloody train.” Bond let out a heavy sigh. “Besides, I spent a good long time being ‘dead’ about two months ago. Wasn’t really looking to stay that way,” he added.

            Q nodded soberly and took a sip of cold tea. He grimaced. “Yuck.”

            Bond chuckled as Q placed his cup on the coffee table. “What about you then, Q?” he asked.

            Q frowned at the agents vagueness. “What do you mean?”

            “Today’s the first day you’ve not scurried off to your office upstairs after dinner.” Bond raised a single blond eyebrow suggestively. “Still no luck with the ladies?”

            Q’s face contorted into a sour expression. “Are we seriously full-circle back to that?” he asked glowering at Bond.

            Rather than threatening, the agent seemed to find Q’s surly look amusing. “You’re the one who first brought it up.”

            Q let out a haggard breath. “Well I wish I hadn’t.”

            Bond stretched his arm over the back of the couch, shooting Q a familiar smug look. “I suppose the adrenaline isn't pumping as high in the labs. You don’t seem to be having any office flings as far as I’ve noticed."

            “That has a lot more to do with personal morals and ethics than my… libido.” Q scoffed at the man next to him. He contemplated whether Bond’s words were simply creepy or straight up verging into stalker territory. Q decided it was probably both. "Besides, the proceedings of any MI6 missions are just as tense for me and mine in Q-branch as they are for any agent in the field. Thank you very much, 007."

            Bond had to hold back an indignant laugh. "Your lives aren't on the line," he responded simply.

            "No," Q agreed, side eyeing Bond with a sobering glance, "but other people's lives are." He his expression turned from furious to weary and he added, “and their lives are our responsibility.”

            The room filled with a dull silence for a long while. The only sound was that from the cars passing outside on the main street below Q’s flat. Bond observed Q searchingly.

            "Can I ask a personal question?" Bond seemed keen for more conversation but clued in to the need for a change of subject.

            "Go on."

            "When the mood does strike, who do you sleep with? Sexual preference."

            Q quickly picked up his mug again and sipped his tea, not seeming to mind it’s tepid temperature anymore. For a short while Bond thought he was contemplating his answer, but he quickly realize that was not the case.

            "Q?" He said, nudging for a response.

            Q looked over to him calmly. "Hm?"

            "You did say I could ask."

            "True, but I never said I would answer." He took another sip of tea. "Keep up, Bond."

            Bond leaned back against the couch a tiny smirk gracing his lips.

-=-

            “Good morning, Q. How is 007?”

            “Excuse me?” Q looked up from his work to see Moneypenny standing over him. She had leaned one hip against his desk. There was a look on her face Q didn’t know if he cared for.

            “Bond? James Bond?” Moneypenny said in a deep, put-on voice. “M says you’ve been put in charge of his care.” She shot Q a smug smile.

            Q put his pen down onto the table harder than he’d first meant to. “I’m not his bloody nanny, Moneypenny!” he bit out.

            Moneypenny rolled her eyes. “Oh clam down, Q. You’re his Quartermaster, it’s part of the job description.”

            “Even so, I don’t appreciate the slanderous accusations.”

            “Slanderous?” Moneypenny crossed her arms over his chest with an amused grin. “Oh please, Q. You’re not a Victorian lady, there’s nothing unseemly about you and Bond hanging out as mates after work… although, if you’re not just hanging out as mates… and something slanderous is going on…”

            Q swallowed when Moneypenny leaned over his desk.

            “I’d be the first with details on the info. Right, Q?” she said with a wink.

            “Oh, do shut up, Moneypenny,” Q snapped.

            The woman leaned back up straight and tossed a file onto his desk. She was obviously fighting back a laugh. “Notes for you to review… and do try to remember you’ve got other agents to deal with, alright darling?”

            Not for another two weeks I don’t, Q thought. His only reply to Moneypenny was an annoyed grunt as he waved her away from him. When she was out of sight, Q put his head in his hands and took a deep breath. He deigned to admit it but he needed a break from work... and from Bond… especially Bond.

-=-

            “Geoffrey, is that you?”

            Q couldn’t help but smile into the other end of the receiver. “Hello, Charles.”

            He’d made the call. It had been ages since he’d seen Charles, and it was nearing the weekend. Chances were that Charles was going away to the country for the weekend like he used to back when they were in school together.

            “My god it’s been ages! At first I’d just assumed my caller ID was lying to me.” The man on the other end of the line laughed. “How are you? Still working for the government?”

            “To some capacity.” Q shrugged even though he knew Charles couldn’t see.

            “Well it’s bloody good to hear from you. Were you wanting to come visit me at the homestead this weekend?

            Q laughed. "Am I that obvious?"

            "You are. Anyway, you must join me! Besides, I’m sure mother misses you.”

            “Oh god, your mother won’t be there will she?” Q teased.

            “Not until Sunday. Please come with… I’ve missed you.”

            Q let out a sigh. “I get off Friday afternoon, can I get a lift?”

            “Of course, I’m in London actually. We should have gone for lunch sometime, if your busy schedule allows for it.”

            Q sighed. “Some people have to work, Charles.”

            “Psh,” was Charles' response to that. “Still living in that tiny flat?”

            “Same flat,” Q confirmed.

            “Right I’ll see you there then. Friday around two.”

            “Cheers. See you then.”

-=-

            Q hung up the phone and shoved it into the pocket of his oversized jacket before beginning his short trek to the nearby tube station. He told himself it wasn’t an excuse; he just needed to get out of the house for a bit, get out of the city, breath some fresh air. Plus, Charles was his best friend, or at least they had been best friends before life caught up to him. Q hadn’t seen Charles in ages.

            Anyway, the point was that this little holiday had nothing to do with Bond. Granted, Q had never felt the need to take even a short trip away from home that didn’t have something to do with work in years. Still, nothing to do with Bond… Q was just tired from… all the work… that he hadn’t been doing for two weeks.

            Q stopped off at the Tesco’s up the road from his flat for some bits then walked the rest of the way home. He trudged up the stairs and unlocked his door. Upon opening it, the piece of card he kept wedged between wood and the frame fluttered to the ground. Q picked it up and placed on a ledge it inside. He didn’t even bother to check and see if Bond was there before he spoke.

            "You can keep hanging around here if you want but I won't be at home this weekend," Q called into the air.

            Behind him, sitting in what could at that point be deemed his spot on the sofa, Bond frowned. “You won’t be home?” he repeated, curious.

            Q answered his next question before he could even ask. "I'm spending the weekend in the country.” He hung up his jacket, revealing the brown cardigan underneath.

            Bond looked puzzeled. "On your own?"

            "With an old friend from Uni." Q unclipped his work badge and placed it in a decorative bowl. He turned to Bond then and began rubbing his arm, letting the plastic Tesco’s bag dangling from it at his shins. There was a silence between them as Q made his way into the living room.

            Bond was somehow able to roll his eyes with actually performing the action. "Why am I not surprised that you're young enough to still be in touch with friends from Uni," he muttered. With a sigh, Bond sunk back, relaxing into the sofa. "I'm sure I’ll find something to do."

            Q cracked a marginally relived smile. "Alright." He handed Bond the single beer from his bag. 

            "What's this?" Bond asked with a slight chuckle in his tone. He accepted the green bottle from Q.

            Q shrugged. “An apology since I’ll be away."

            "Oh, Q, you shouldn't have." Bond angled the bottle so that he could use the edge of the coffee table to knock the cap off.

            Q stopped him with a shark interjection. "Don't you dare use my table for that! I’ll be right back with a bottle opener."

            Bond yielded, setting the bottle down. "So,” he started to ask while he waited for Q to return from the kitchen, “who is it you’re staying with, Q?"

            "Oh, Charles?" Q returned with a bottle opener and took the cap off Bond’s beer for him.

            "Of course his name is Charles," Bond murmured to himself with a little chuckle. "He already sounds posh."

            "A bit.” Q smirked, coming back into the living room and handing Bond a bottle opener. “It’s his family’s house we’ll be staying at. The call it a country house, but it's essentially a mansion. There's a chapel out in the yard and everything. A bit like-" Q stopped himself there. He looked down at his feet and cleared his throat. “Never mind.”

            Bond ignored him in favour of cracking open his beer. “Tell me, Q,” he started, looking at his beer with a single raised brow, “did you seriously only get me one?”

            Q pursed his lips in an annoyed expression. He left the room to grab his laptop from his office upstairs. Behind him, he swore he could hear Bond chuckle.

-=-00Q-=-