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It is nothing but cold in Millbank just like the rest of Greater London the grey clouds blanketing the sky are blocking out every bit of light while spiting out rain at the people and buildings below. Vauxhall Bridge is quieter at this time people are still locked up in their offices staring at the clocks with only an hour and a half till lunch and they can have their freedom.
Q sits in a small café off in one of the side streets. The mobile reception will no doubt be awful and that’s the reason he’s chosen this spot, no CCTV camera’s can see this point and the one that is in the street corner pointing nearest to the side street has a blind spot. Q tries to bury himself further into his coat with no avail, his companion has yet to say anything and it makes Q very uneasy and irritated, mostly just irritated. The café is quiet with a few customers dotted around drinking their coffee leisurely with the occasional Bourgeoisie coming in for a quick cup of coffee to go.
They are sitting out of place nearest the window and further out from the inner circle, just enough not to attract attention and not look suspicious.
This place suits Bond, Q thinks high-class but elegant in the way it does it. Yet as the man picks up the pot of Earl Grey and pours Q his second cup with a flourish Q can’t help but think how aloof he looks.
“You really are infuriating.” Q tells him, arms crossed as Bond offers him a lemon wedge. He accepts; he needs to taste the bitterness on his tongue to keep him from drifting.
Bond is a mask of indifference, as he always seems to be, nothing has changed with time. “Thank you.” Bond deadpans, a hand going into the inner breast pocket of his coat resting on his chair. Q half expects him to pull out his wallet to pay and leave. Q never could read Bond all that well; he always has the same cold and collected expression sometimes shifting to boredom or irritation or smugness.
Instead he pulls out a file, encased in a grey folder and Q recognises it straight away as SIS. “I took the time of highlighting the important points.”
“How considerate of you.” Q fires back taking a sip of his tea, wincing slightly at the bitterness. Bond slides the file along the table slowly and Q reaches to take it from him the slowed down action is like something out of a John le Carré novel.
He flips through the file, frowning at the lack of blackened out text. “What is this?” He inquires confused. Bond would never give him a file if it wasn’t important and he certainly wouldn’t be this insecure about it. But what doesn’t make sense is the fact that the file is completely untouched. Q would never get to see information that wasn’t within his purview; Her Majesty’s Government and SIS are like that and well within reason to be. Then it clicks.
Fresh intelligence. Completely untouched by anyone within Government, Home Office, SIS, Secret Service, Ministry Defence you name it. Bond had been the only one to feast his eyes on this. “This is incredible.”
“Glad you think so.” Bond says sipping his completely black coffee, no sugar, no milk.
“Where did you get this?” Q asks baffled how Bond could get this by MI6.
Bond leans back in his chair, the movement looks casual but his eyes scan Q’s left shoulder checking the refection of the café in the window. “On a little trip to Thailand.”
There are few times Q would readily admit that Bond had impressed him there’s no need to feed his already over-sized ego but this would have to be one of those times in which he is and he’s far too interested to feel annoyed at himself for it. “Your source?”
Bond meets Q’s eyes levelly his expression giving away nothing. “Stays with me.”
Of course it does Q thinks bitterly but he only has a moment to do so before he realizes something.
“Does M know about this?”
Bond gives a sigh that sounds close to an annoyed huff; giving a half eye roll he always does this when he hears something he doesn’t like.
Q takes a deep breath, suddenly his heart is beating fast. He leans forward his voice low and quiet so as not to carry. To a curious onlooker they would just look like two people engaged in an intimate conversation.
“Let me rephrase the question. Does anyone besides you, your source and now me know of this intelligence?”
Bond’s clear eyes are ice blue as he raises an eyebrow to say what do you think.
Q feels a mixture of hope and affection swell up in him but that is then replaced by concern, worry and the daunting feeling he use to get whenever he got one of these intelligence files.
There would have been one time when life was all jokes and snark, gadgets and MI6. Q would have smirked, pushing his glasses further up his nose I’m honoured double-oh seven he would have said.
But that was then this is now.
He drains the bitter tea from the china cup, relishing in the taste and the burn. “Christ,” He says, “I need something stronger for this.”
.
Q taps his fingers impatiently on the bar top, shifting to check the time every so often. He hasn’t yet ordered a drink so every so often the Barman will shoot him curious looks. Q catches his eye tapping at the cigarette packet in his hand.
The barman frowns. “Would you mind terribly if smoke here?” Q asks giving him a sweet smile leaning close; voice low like the question is just for him. The man gives a shake of the head the second the question leaves Q’s lips wiping down the bar. “Meeting an ex?” he asks jokingly and then seems to be scolding himself for asking slight embarrassment reaching his cheeks. Q doesn’t answer just gives a soft smile keeping up the flirtation.
“Something like that.” Q says to himself once the barman is out of earshot.
He could hardly concentrate when he went back to work after meeting with Bond, conspiracy theories and untrustworthy public sector figures swimming around in his head for the rest of the afternoon. But honestly it was that intoxicating feeling he always got when he was around Bond. Something he hadn’t felt in a while, and all the old feelings he’d buried down deep were starting to resurface, and god he wasn’t even bothering to fight it.
“Dammit.” He curses a cigarette between his lips flicking his lighter that refuses to light.
“Good read?” Says a smooth but instantly recognizable voice behind him.
Q can’t help but smile even though he shouldn’t not if he wants to get out of this without being hurt.
Bond wears a suit, of course, always looking effortlessly smart and charming. It’s a different one from this morning and Q wonders if went to home to change. He likes the idea of Bond fretting over what to wear, not that he cares what Bond wears he looks good in all his suits.
“Riveting.” Q replies, plucking the cigarette out of his mouth, not bothering to get off the barstool.
“A single malt scotch, neat please,” Bond says to the barman eyes never leaving Q’s “and a Gin and Tonic.”
“Make that a double.” Q says kindly to the barman and the man smiles at him obviously hoping he’s still in for a chance.
“Rough day?” Bond asks, sliding in next to Q.
“We’re here to discuss your work are we not.” Q states with a raised eyebrow, thanking the barman when he brings their drinks.
Bond leans forward and Q turns his head allowing the agent to give him a quick peck on the cheek, casual, safe.
“You look lovely.” Bond says as he sits on the stool his piercing blue eyes taking every inch of Q apart then putting him back together for his own viewing pleasure.
“Would you be so kind?” Q asks him propping his cigarette between his lips. Bond reaches into his pocket taking out a golden lighter. Q raises an eyebrow again but doesn’t ask. No doubt it’s a souvenir from Bond’s latest mission.
He cups the lighter, his fingertips pressing against Bond’s hand to angle the flame right. Q can feel Bond’s warm breath against his forehead, ruffling his hair and he promises himself this is the closest physical contact he’s going to allow tonight.
He inhales, pushing the smoke back till it hits the back of his throat, eyes closed he releases a stream of smoke and strangely he feels like his lungs have filled up with air, his posture relaxing his mind unclouding his heart no longer beating out of his chest.
“Thank you.” He says quietly and Bond’s eyes look right into him with that hunger he’s missed so very much.
.
It’s later in the night when the bar starts to get quiet, that Q switches to vodka rocks while Bond drinks Ballantine’s. The alcohol relaxes him, loosening his tongue at least enough for him to talk about his work and he doesn’t know how long he goes on for but somewhere in-between ‘not’ talking about the hassle of coding the new SIS security program and voicing the exasperation he feels towards Special Branch as of late Q realizes he’s been talking non-stop. Whether it’s nerves or the alcohol Q is unsure at this point, but Bond doesn’t stop him.
“I’m touched that you would trust me with such delicate information.” Q says when they finally get onto the topic of the file, the bar almost completely empty now save a few people in the booths, apparently Bond knew the owner and left a big enough tip to send the bartender on his way.
Bond downs the rest of his whiskey tapping his glass for another then promptly sending the barman off with a look. “And you don’t reciprocate?” His tone neutral but he has that look in his eyes saying he won’t let off till he gets an answer.
Q takes a drag of his cigarette – and Christ he’d started with a fresh pack today but now it’s more than half empty – the alcohol giving him the sort of confidence to say something that he never would be able to, least of all in such a dry tone. “I decided to start trusting you when I started sleeping with you.”
Bond swallows his next sip of whiskey a little too audibly.
Q does trust Bond because most of the time he’s right even though he doesn’t necessarily always do the right thing by it. But trusting Bond isn’t the problem, the problem is Q trusts him blindly and that’s so very dangerous, for himself more than anything.
“Why wouldn’t I?” Bond asks getting back on topic.
Q taps the ash that’s built up on the end of his cigarette, propping his elbow back onto the bar top once more, his body angled out from the bar ever so slightly in a come-hither sort of way. And if he were to move his barstool ever so slightly towards the bar his knees would brush against Bond’s thigh. He hadn’t noticed they’d gravitated so close till now but he can’t move without attracting Bond’s attention and having to give into a brush of physical contact and the electric shock that comes with it which will cause him to do something so very stupid that he’ll regret when he’s sober.
“You know why.” Q replies purposely not looking at Bond. When the man doesn’t answer Q sighs in an attempt to brush it off. “Besides I don’t work with you anymore Bond.” Emphasis on the with, because he never worked for Bond though it had felt like that most of the time even though as a Quartermaster Q had technically outranked Bond.
“As I understand it we all work for Queen and Country.” Bond’s getting annoyed now, Q can’t hear it from the ice cold impenitence seeping into his voice and Q is tempted to snap at the man because how dare he.
“You know what I mean,” Q snaps anyway to hell with better judgement “I’m not MI6 anymore and I am certainly not playing MI5 liaison.”
“You still have clearance.”
That comes as a surprise. When Q has resigned from SIS to move to MI5 the only person that was allowed to know about his previous employment at MI6 was the Director General and the occasional Section Chief if need be. Mallory had not been pleased to see him go but then the sibling rivalry between MI5 and MI6 is not just an over exaggerated rumour but the man had been glad that Q had at least stayed in public sector.
But to still have clearance, honestly he would think most at MI6 now despised him for moving across the river in what they would see as a step down. But Q does suppose if there is some sort of national crisis and they need their best people then it makes sense for them to have clearance to do so.
Q shakes his head focusing back on Bond. Sipping his drink Q relaxes back into his seat. “And you have a new Quartermaster who is very well qualified for the job.” He’d interviewed the man for Christ’s sake couldn’t have a more qualified person to replace him, though now that he thinks about it he doubts the man could hold his own against this particular double-oh and obviously by Bond’s cool expression at Q’s statement he had not taken a liking to the new Quartermaster in the three months of him being there while Q had easily won Bond’s respect in just under a minute. Q ignores the smugness he feels at that.
“Is it the money?” Bond asks when he knows full well it’s not. Q scoffs at the question honestly the pay is only slightly less than what he’d been getting at MI6.
Since Bond is being crass Q decides to be even more so. “Chief Scientific Advisor just sounds a lot more glamorous.”
Honestly the nerve of this man will never cease to amaze and infuriate him.
“The hours then.”
Q laughs stabbing out his cigarette promptly lighting another, Jesus. “There are hardly different on the other side of the river.” And with all the governmental meetings Q now has to attend – politics never had been one of his favourite topics – he hardly has weekends and at least at MI6 Q would get the occasional break whenever an agent was done with a mission.
Bond snorts, looking off distantly to the other side of the room. “Well it certainly has nothing to do with the travel.”
“Why are we still on this subject?” Q snaps.
“No harm in having a little catch-up.” Bond says and it sounds innocent enough but nothing ever is with him.
Q purposely blows his next stream of smoke in Bond’s face it’s childish but the man doesn’t even bat an eyelid. “And whose fault is that?”
“You’re still mad about that.” Bond says making every question sound like a goddamn statement or a bloody integration and it annoys Q to hell.
“Most send their colleagues, flowers or a good luck card.” Something hardens in Bond’s eyes at the word ‘colleagues’ but Q is too distracted tracing the rim of his glass, cigarette between his fingers, to notice.
Bond looks unimpressed. “Flowers.” He says slowly as if the very idea sounds incredibly idiotic and a waste of time.
“They don’t however sever all contact with them for months.” Q says as if he hadn’t heard him.
Bond shrugs as if it’s okay. “I was busy.”
It stings and it leaves Q feeling hurt and no doubt glassy eyed so he takes another drag of his cigarette to keep himself under control. There’s still the sound of music playing in the bar, a slow old Billie Holiday song that Q recognises but has forgotten the name. It reminds him of a time that feels so long ago at least longer than it should. He remembers receiving a train ticket to Paris in his name. There had been no doubt in his mind who it had come from.
Bond had recently finished a mission in Rio, and had a weekend layover in Paris. It hadn’t really taken much persuasion from Bond to make Q come out there and they’d spent most of their time wandering Paris by day, drinking fine wine and slow dancing to Persian music in bars, which hadn’t been touched since the 20s.
MI6 had been so far away then and Q desperately wants to go back to that time. Q had been so lost in Bond’s world then, so full of excitement. Luckily he’d woke up from the dream before it was too late
Q massages his temples with one hand distantly he can feel a headache coming on and decides strongly on another vodka. “You should take your intelligence to an analyst, if it’s legitimate they’ll be able to tell you.” He wants this thing with Bond to be over as soon as possible but he’s now got onto the real argument.
“I already know it’s true.” His tone leaving no room for argument.
If Q had been any less stubborn then he would have just left it at that not getting himself into to a corner. “MI6 has their fair share of top-notch analysts, I know a guy at MI5 who can take a look at it or I’m such Special Branch would love to get their hands on it.”
A deadly calm settles over Bond for a moment he’s obviously completely against Q’s suggestion. “I’m not handing this over to anyone at home.” Bond says evenly.
Q sighs, he’d spent the rest of his break and working hour after Bond had left that café thinking about that damn file. The file had held names and information about those within public sector that were selling information along with extremists within counter-terrorists groups both government and service. Something that needs to be dealt with quickly and before the public or those whose names turned up in file and their business partners find out. The only issue was they had to know for sure that the people they were hunting were the right ones.
“You read the file?” Q says the exasperation clear in his raised tone, the bar completely empty now “Technical it comes under MI5 jurisdiction.”
Bond gives him a cool look that says please. “It’s not my fault MI5 missed intelligence.”
Q sighs, drowning his drink the burn long since gone after the amount of alcohol he’s had tonight. Now that he thinks about it he feels awfully light headed. “You are impossible.”
He means that to be the end of it, he doesn’t know why Bond contacted him when he was just going to ignore his advice. Then he thinks, god he really has been stupid because Bond hadn’t just asked him here for a file, of course it had to be something else and Bond as always thought he could get both.
Q stands up, the world spins and as he gets up his legs brush Bond’s and he’s gasping like some damsel in distress holding a hand to his forehead in an effort to get the room to still.
“Your man at MI5?” Says Bond’s voice breaking through the fog that had gathered in Q’s head. “You’re involved.”
Q blinks.
“It’s a simple question.” For the first time Bond’s blatant indifference is scaring him, that’s when he’s truly at his worst; cold, clam, collected and so very cruel.
Q’s brain seems to catch up with the moment, replaying Bond’s statement in his head. Q’s brain fires desperately trying to come up with an answer, between the ice cold piercing his heart.
“And it’s none of your business.” Q says quietly, pocketing his cigarette packet, stubbing his last one in the ashtray, not looking at Bond because he can’t. But Bond continues still deadly calm. “You’re certainly making a habit of it.”
Q inhales sharply at the low blow.
“Does the Director General know you’re sleeping with one of his best officers?” Bond asks his voice more forceful this time enough to make Q wince but his gaze snaps up to meet Bond’s only to be met with white hot anger clear in those blue eyes while the rest of his face is closed off.
“Jealous?” Q mocks and it sounds like a confirmation and god, he regrets it the moment the word comes out of his mouth because he really shouldn’t push Bond when he’s like this, he’s never seen him this angry.
This had been what Bond had wanted, to worm his way back into Q’s life, to find out every detail. It’s expected of a spy and Q really hates him for it because it’s all Bond allows himself to show.
“See this is why it would have never worked between us.” Q tells Bond, it’s not cold not cruel it’s just sad. “Because you can never turn it off.”
This seems to douse some of Bond’s anger. “And that’s why you left.”
Another goddamn statement. God, Q needs to get out of this bar. “I did what was best for us both professionally.” He says it as coldly as he can, making to move past Bond.
The second he turns to move, he feels Bond strongly grip his elbow pulling him back easily, the other gripping hard at his upper arm and he’s going to have bruises Q thinks.
Bond’s cold ice fury is back again and seems to have taken hold completely because he’s gripping Q with such force and looking at him like that and for a second Q is overwhelmed by fear. This is James Bond, double-oh seven, licence to kill; this is the man that Q had only heard briefly through an earpiece the one who had done unspeakable things to protect Queen and country.
But goddamn it, he’s no less in love with him.
“And when it happens next time? There are only so many government branches you can run to Q.”
Q doesn’t have enough strength to get out of Bond’s grip no matter how much force he puts into it though Q knows if he’d put up a real struggle, Bond would be off him in a second.
“Don’t call me that.” Q whispers. He’s not the quartermaster anymore
It breaks through Bond’s rage and he looks deep into Q’s eyes for a second and Q tries his hardest not to blink. Bond’s grip loosens slowly before letting go of him completely. Q releases the breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding.
Briefly he thinks about paying but he really doesn’t want to start another argument with Bond he can’t win. He shrugs on his coat, something heavy in his pocket, remembering the file. He slams it on the bar top not looking at Bond at all.
“Get your intelligence to someone Bond or don’t share it at all.”
He moves past him with no protest from Bond, trying his hardest not to brush against him when he leaves but it’s inevitable. He stumbles slightly to the door.
The cold November London weather sobers him up slightly, the cold air helping him breath. He can’t walk home he thinks, and as he push his hair off his forehead, his palm brushes against the wetness on his cheek. He sniffs, no, there’s no way he’s taking the subway in this state, and it will be hard enough to get a taxi on a Friday night.
Stupid, stupid, stupid. He thinks to himself.
He nearly jumps out of his skin when he feels a hand at his hip. “Let me drive you home.” A familiar voice says in his ear warm and comforting.
Q shakes his head back and forth. “I’m fine.” Though he’s clearly not.
“Let me drive you back Q.” Bond says again, turning Q to face him, wrapping an arm around Q’s waist.
“N-no.” he stutters putting up a fight but only in voice. Bond is warm, even though it’s cold around them and Q can see his breath in the cold night air, can smell the alcohol his breath showing neither of them are fit to drive.
“We’ve been drinking.” Q says.
Bond shakes his head his gaze falling to Q’s lips, pulling him closer and Q goes willingly. “Doesn’t matter.” He says softly and Q remembers the way he uses to talk like that just for him.
When Bond kisses him, Q melts instantly, completely defeated. He slots into place with Bond’s arms around him their bodies flush against each other. Q wraps his arms around Bond’s neck his chin tilted upwards for the kiss, his mouth opening instantly for Bond. Q ignores that nagging voice in his head because it can wait till morning, because when Bond kisses him Q feels like he can breath again as silly as it seems.
Bond breaks the kiss when air is clearly becoming an issue, before moving in to kiss Q again, tongue feeling out and claiming every part of him he can find and Q sucks on it feeling a spark of arousal building and Bond growls, pulling Q impossibly closer.
Q runs a hand through Bond’s hair tugging at the blond locks he’s dearly missed. “Flag a taxi.” He says to Bond in-between another kiss.
“What about the car?” Bond asks but he only sounds half interested.
“Doesn’t matter.” And for the first time in a while it really doesn’t.