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Chapter Text

“I have to go through what?”

“Full evaluation.”

Q blinked slowly and made a deliberate motion to clean his ears with his index fingers. He lowered them and stared at Tanner who had a mild expression on his face. “I. Have. To. Go. Through. What?”

Tanner shook his head slowly his expression not even cracking. Q knew it was what made him such a great Chief of Staff as well as a poker player. Probably on par with Bond if not better. The only thing that separated him from double-o status was he was terrible at handling firearms and drive to be an excellent Chief of Staff. “Full evaluation. It's one of the procedures reinforced from the dismantling of the Joint Intelligence Task Force. All new hires and those brought back from suspension after six months have to go through them.”

“I didn't when the Task Force was dismantled.”

“No one who was already part of MI6 did back then. You're technically a reinstatement like a couple of other double-o's who have been suspended. Bond had to go through a short one after he left with Dr. Swann for a few months after the whole Blofeld Incident. He skirted under the six-month requirement by taking extended leave, but M put him in for it just to be sure.”

Q sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose, shoving his glasses up and down for a moment before lowering his hand. “Now?”

“We'll schedule the sessions, but yes. Your first one is scheduled for today after your re-orientation compliance training was done.”

Q pursed his lips and gave Tanner an unhappy look before setting his headset down and glancing over to Arthur. “Take over for 003's mission tonight. I'll check your progress later.”

“Yes, sir,” Arthur promptly picked up his own headset and logged into the system Q had been working his way through to help 003.

He had bypassed all of the re-orientation modules assigned to him that very morning about rules, regulations and everything they were all required to take on a yearly basis to be compliant. He knew he could easily hack into the system to make it so that it auto updated, but considering he was now on probation for three years – a mere twenty minutes clicking his left mouse button every three seconds on average finished all modules and 'tests' after.

Compliance training was bad for brain work as Sherlock would have said.

He gestured for Tanner to precede him and followed the older man out of Q branch. The only thing medical he had to do on a yearly basis was Psych and every single employee did that. The double-o's got it twice a year or when their handlers made notes in their reports that it was a stressful mission. But Tanner was saying that he had to go through full evaluation – which meant re-taking all of the physical tests, going through Psych again and even marksmanship.

For new employees there was a baseline of whether they were junior field agents brought in from the service, or office staff like his minions. Most of them were civilian and assigned classes to at least get a basic handle on weapons. Q preferred assigning the more advance marksmanship classes to certain minions since they were designing rifles, guns and all sorts of things for the agents. Better to ensure that the agents were getting the best from his branch.

“Marksmanship today?” he asked as they made their way down to the lift and Tanner pressed the button for the firing range.

“Yes. Medical for bloodwork and Psych tomorrow. Physical on Wednesday. IA is handling it as usual,” the other man unlocked his smartphone and tilted it slightly before locking it just as quickly.

Q did not miss the words written at the top of the calendar screenshot Tanner had shown him. [ Vatican cameos. ] Dread did not pool his stomach – he was too much of a professional to dread something. But concern and a healthy dose of adrenaline-fueled curiosity prickled the back of his mind. Vatican cameos were words that Sherlock and Mycroft mostly used. However, in the context which Tanner knew about it was back when Thomas Ashleigh had betrayed them and was a deep-cover mole.

Tanner, and by extension M, suspected an evaluator working in Internal Affairs was a mole. For whom or what entity was probably unknown. Q set aside the ones who vet the double-o's whenever they returned from stressful missions and had a notation on their files. Those staff members were specifically trained to handle double-o's and their prickly demeanor and unusual quirks.

He suspected this was specifically directed at staff who conducted the reinstatement of employees as well as the new hire ones. Staff members who had clearance access for records, security footage and sensitive information, but not so high enough for double-o clearance.

“I was only gone for a year Tanner,” he started conversationally, keeping his tone the same as when Tanner had ushered him from his station in Q branch. “When did M start reinforcing this?”

“Since the South China Sea Incident,” Q could tell Tanner was truly annoyed.

“Ah,” Q did not need to draw upon 001's persona as he grimaced. “I should probably apologize to him. And thank him. For my job.”

To his amusement, M's Chief of Staff chuckled lightly and shook his head.

“I'm willing to bet other suspended staff members complained when they were brought back throughout the year.”

“You're the first.”

Q snorted lightly. If anyone listened into their conversation, it sounded perfectly normal. However, to Q it at least gave him a good timeline to work with. If said staff member was a mole, it meant that they were more than likely looking to recruit and turn a new hire or someone reinstated from suspension. He would have to check the records, but judging by the gossip from his minions this morning, he had not heard of any other reinstatements except for his own since he had been on suspension. The possibility of a new hire being groomed to be an informant was high then.

He recognized the situation for what it was – Tanner was going to be his handler and M reluctantly needed a form of 001 instead of Q for this. It also meant no one , not even Bond or probably Moneypenny knew about this particular internal investigation. Even after everything, Q supposed that M could not follow through throwing away an asset; even if Q did cock everything up over a year ago.

“I hope you do know my first and only assessment with Marksmanship years ago was me taking apart the gun and building a better one as a result. Prototype for the palm print encoding system.”

Tanner looked impressed as the doors opened and they headed out of the elevator. Q sighed again, the annoyance more real than feigned. He was excited to hack his way into a system having been denied his choice of drug for a year now. But, knowing he was both on probation, but also M would not request his particular skillset unless things were truly dire – or there really was no choice – Q resigned himself to actually doing this and the secret mission.

“Ah, Quartermaster,” one of the two evaluators greeted him as he and Tanner entered. “Welcome back. I'm Riley Triton and this is my colleague Anna Willowsby.” Triton was of a medium build with a bland look about him. Q quickly scanned him, reading that he was married with two children and a third one on the way, possibly another child considering he used to be an adulterer, and definitely had a floating liver problem due to genetic alcoholism in the family.

Next to him Anna Willowsby was a mousy woman who owned a pug that she gave too much table scraps to and was drowning in veterinarian bills due to said pug having major health issues. She was single, but had the occasional fling with a couple of swingers who lived near her. She suffered from eczema and did not like wearing makeup even though her boss ordered her to.

Q briefly wondered if he could at least have a word with the head of Human Resources for that type of order. Sexism was so last century in his opinion.

“Range Master Sergeant Paul Yung I'm sure you remember-”

“Paul,” Q greeted the grey-haired man who was a former SAS drill sergeant. How he had been recruited from SAS to MI6 was a mystery and even one that Q could not find in his files. But what he knew was that the range master was very competent and brook no arguments from anyone who dared violate range rules – including the double-o's. At least he was somewhat generous with those in Q-branch for testing things out. To a certain point.

“Quartermaster, welcome back,” Paul smiled genially at him. “Come to take your competency test?”

Q sighed loudly and nodded before glancing over to the two IA evaluators. “What do I have to do?”

Willowsby fingers flipped through her touchpad and she pursed her lips for a moment. “Well, the last one you had was when you first started seventeen years ago, correct?”

“Yes, but I do have to warn that my scores were probably incomplete. I took apart the gun.”

The woman looked up at him with a raised eyebrow before shaking her head. “Please do not take apart this one. We will just need to see if you need remedial classes or if you are within the margins for MI6 staff for handling firearms.”

“I am sure being within the Quartermaster's department proves I can handle firearms considering I help design them.”

Willowsby grimaced and Triton coughed into his hand to stifle his laughter.

Q hemmed. “Do I need to do this-”

“Yes, Q,” Tanner interjected, “M's orders.”

“Fine,” Q sighed audibly again and moved over to pick up the headset and placed them over his ears. He picked up the 9mm and stared at it for a second before wincing.

“Quartermaster?” Triton's voice was tinned in the headsets, but Q didn't bother looking at the IA evaluator and instead examined the gun, popping the magazine out before the chambered bullet landed on the table. He gripped it a few times and grimaced some more. This 9mm really needed some tinkering with, even if it was one of the common ones used on the range.

“Quartermaster, please just fire the gun,” Triton's voice sounded exasperated.

He glanced at the range master who merely gave him a look, “Range hot.”

Q sighed again before shoving the lone bullet back into the cartridge and slamming it home. Chambering it with the ease of handling firearms for so long, he sighted down the barrel and deliberately did not loosen his stance as he was prone to doing.

He fired and grimaced at the shooting pain that traveled up his arm. Bracing himself, he brought his other hand up to the bottom of the gun and cupped his right hand with it in a mimicry of the stance he had seen movie stars use whenever attempting to shoot a gun Hollywood style.

He fired again and knew he was going to pay with a very sore arm later tonight. Bond probably had ice packs in his freezer. He squeezed the trigger twice more, watching with some distaste at how wide his shots were – a couple winged the edges of the paper. The rest, lost to the range itself. Squeezing off one more shot, he finally lowered the gun and flicked the safety on it before popping the cartridge out and examining the gun.

“Range cold,” Paul called out. He was staring at Q with a slight tilt of his head, as if confused.

“Well, that was not bad, Quartermaster. Within the average margins,” Willowsby looked somewhat satisfied.

“One year suspension,” Q shrugged as he set the gun down and removed his headset. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Tanner attempting to smooth out his frown of concern.

“We'll recommend a class-”

“Or I could just fix this gun-”

“-to get you re-familiarized with handling firearms, Quartermaster.” Willowsby continued as if he did not interrupt with a smile on her face that did not reach her eyes. “After all, you said it's been a year. Skills do atrophy, especially if you are not used to the basic weight and handling of a regular firearm.”

Q did not need to fake the brittle smile thrown at her and Triton. “Of course.” He looked at Tanner. “Anything else?”

“N-No...” Tanner stuttered slightly and Q merely nodded.

“I'll be in Q branch then,” he pushed past the three of them and headed into the elevator. Once the doors closed, Q allowed himself the smallest sigh of relief. First of the traps were baited.

Chapter Text

Q was huddled in his usual spot in Bond's flat, eyes half-closed and drifting in a light doze to the muffled noise of London traffic when he heard the agent's measured footsteps approach his door. This time, unlike the few times before when he broke into Bond's flat, there was no hesitation and the door opened.

“Quinn,” Bond's voice was quiet and fond.

Q roused himself enough to open his eyes and smile in return at the agent's entrance. The smell of London winter filtered through for a moment before Bond closed the door behind him. He looked travel-worn, but content and happy. Q was glad that Bond had spent time with Madeleine instead of being in London when his inquiry was happening.

“Hello James,” he returned before nestling himself further into the blankets, stretching his toes out towards the edges of the very excellent and comfortable couch. “Welcome back. How is Madeleine?”

“Doing well,” Bond's tone was edged with relief. “She sends her warm wishes.”

Q knew he should not have been surprised, but somehow it felt nice to know that Bond actually told Madeleine about him. The extent of it was still unknown, but in the two times he had met her and somewhat interacted with her, she seemed aloof, distant and wary. Understandable considering she was the daughter of a known SPECTRE assassin and distrusted anyone in the intelligence business. But hearing that from Bond, it felt nice.

“I'm leaving back to the office in an hour or so. I am running part of 003's mission tonight, so I apologize for the quick pop in and out,” Q stretched his toes some more in the blankets. He didn't exactly sleep, but rather dozed and let the sounds of London lull him into a sense of peace and equilibrium since he had broken into the flat. M's abrupt request for him to undertake this mission had rattled him more than he liked.

Bond merely grunted with a quirk of his lips before taking his jacket and gloves off, hanging them up next to Q's own. His travel bag was kicked to the side to be dealt with later. Q watched the agent bustle to the kitchen, slinging his holster and gun off to be left on the table and pull out the familiar accouterments of his tea pot, Earl Grey, bourbon and a kettle.

The routine was familiar enough that Q found himself smiling fondly and pushed the blankets off of himself as he sat up from the couch. He knew the moment Bond alighted on the ice pack on his shoulder when the screech of kettle on the stove stopped just before Bond lit the gas.

“Full evaluation. Apparently routine for all new hires and reinstated personnel to go through now. Protocol since the South China Sea Incident. I was at the range today to take my tests.”

The click of the spark to light the gas was followed by the whooshing sound of a fire being lit under the kettle. Q looked up to see Bond's icy blue eyes tracking him as he finished folding the blanket up before padding his way to the island. He sat down to wait for his tea.

“It's not as sore as it looks, James,” Q reassured him.

“You don't miss,” James murmured.

“I don't,” Q confirmed.

Something in the agent's gaze flickered before his lips thinned a little. “Is this what you want?” Is this what you like?

Bond was no stranger to immediately being put to work – most of the time even before he was back from leave or otherwise. But, Q found it sweetly touching that while Bond knew himself, he extended that concern to him given Q's own history of not only being in a similar mindset long ago like he was, but probably heeding the warning that his status as a double-o was officially revoked.

Contrary to what M was ordering.

Q considering shrugging, but aborted the movement as his muscles protested the movement even under ice. He instead, shook his head. “I'm not sure.”

Blue eyes searched his own for a moment before Bond unscrewed the cap to the bourbon and poured a splash into Q's cup and did the same for his own. The kettle boiled and Bond poured the hot water into the teapot before letting it steep the required amount of minutes.

“Who.”

Q lifted his cup, but only to absently sniff the bourbon in it, admiring the fragrance of it. He looked at his friend from across the rim of the cup. “No.”

Bond's eyes narrowed every so slightly, but he stayed silent. Q knew that look very well, having seen it both in briefings, outside of it and on missions. Bond would discreetly attempt to figure it out and use whatever means he had to put an end to it or to finish the mission.

“I need to figure this one out on my own Bond,” he set his cup down and reached over to the teapot to pour them the tea. “And, it's IA.”

“Nine-Eyes?”

From his many late night-early morning conversations with Bond in the past year, the double-o's and junior agents were sent to dismantle more of the remnants of Nine-Eyes now that a majority of SPECTRE's leadership was dead. It was slow going, but the rat of a politician that had tried to shoot up the Diogenes Club had been very forthcoming with his information.

“Not sure. I'll probably have a more official debrief tomorrow with M since I'm supposed to report to him per reorientation.” He rolled his eyes, doubly annoyed and saw the quirk of the agent's lips turn up as he took a sip of the tea.

“Did you write a program yet?”

“I did, but it was part of the record purge. I'll have to write another one again. Manual clicking through the modules this time. Or maybe Judith still has an old version I can abscond with,” Q vaguely remembered giving an old copy to Judith when she first started so she could immediately get to work instead of wasting her first day on frivolous compliance training. Q sipped his tea, savoring the mix of alcohol and his favorite Earl Grey. Bond really knew how to compliment his vice with his own.

“Feel free to distribute if it seems effective,” Bond said lightly and Q instantly caught the gleam in his agent's eyes.

“Oh no you don't,” Q warned, setting his teacup down and lifting a finger to waggle it in Bond's face. “Just because I am reinstated as the Quartermaster doesn't mean you're first in line for gadgets or ways to bypass what is a reasonable compliance module, especially on sexual harassment or workplace violence that I think double-o's should spend time doing instead of clicking through. You're going to have to do better than that to get me to give you-”

In hindsight, Q kind of knew he had baited Bond, but it was still amusing to him to see the agent roll his own eyes before swiftly reaching across the table and pull him close for a rather passionate kiss. Q immediately relaxed into it, closing his eyes to enjoy the taste of tea, bourbon and the warmth that was Bond's lips on his own. He felt the agent's hand in his hair, tilting his head just a little so deepen the kiss and savored the taste of the agent in his own mouth.

Q let himself be carried away by the way James Bond kissed – wearing his emotions openly through a gentle one or ones like these that were fiery and passionate. Soon though, he broke for air, opening his eyes as he sucked in oxygen through both his teeth and his nose. He met Bond's icy blue eyes, and reached out to gently caressed the lined face of the older man.

“I missed you too, James,” he whispered against the agent's lips. The other man did not even look ruffled from the kiss planted on him.

“Does this mean I've convinced you to part with all of the wonderful gadgets and technologies?” Bond's smile was impish, the hand still in Q's hair relaxing enough to card through in a lazy manner.

Q lowered his hand and chuckled fondly. “Maybe.”

“Maybe?”

Q smiled. “Maybe.”

“Better than a no,” Bond murmured before kissing him again though with less force, but equal to the passion of the first kiss.

Q returned it with equal gentleness as they broke apart again and this time, Bond let them part some more. In the year that they had started this relationship between them, Bond had never gone past kissing, respecting Q's agency when it came to the two of them. But, there were times like this that Q sometimes wondered if more could come about it.

However, just as quickly as those thoughts came, he pushed them aside, knowing it was not what he wanted nor what he liked when it came to his own relationships and friendships. He knew those intrusive thoughts were the remnants of 001.

And M's request that he investigate using such a variation of his former skillset always brought about a sense of oddity that he could not quite separate between Q and 001. He suspected Bond could see the conflict within himself.

Q picked up his teacup again and finished the rest of the tea before pouring himself a fresh cup. He declined the bourbon. “So,” he started conversationally, “where did we leave off?”

“First kill for double-o status,” Bond replied.

Q smiled against the rim of the cup and sipped his tea. “I know yours since you practically avenged me.”

“The bathroom fight I could have done without,” Bond admitted with a shrug, a fluid motion. Q caught the smallest hitch that indicated it was one of the searing memories of a double-o's kill that would more than never be forgotten. “The club and patrons were none the wiser until I was long gone.” Bond smiled grimly finishing his own cup and pouring himself another mixture. “Followed the target into the bathroom and locked the door.”

“Don't quite picture you as the clubbing type.”

“Harder than it looked,” Bond admitted.

“Martinis and tuxedos are definitely more your style,” Q tapped the side of his cup absently. “Killed Mr. Hoxha with a silencer and pillow. I convinced him to go for erotic asphyxiation.”

“His guards must have seen you,” Bond's eyes held no judgment, but rather he sounded curious.

“They did. I became a known quantity after that. It was also why they did not expect his compatriot, Mr. Rosseau to die at Hoxha's funeral.”

“Sniper?”

“Sniper.”

“Poetic,” Bond sipped his tea. He lowered it and stared at Q with a look of pride and of righteousness. “Dryden was in his office.”

“Did M ever tell you what state secrets he sold?”

“A bit,” the agent replied, “the general idea of agents and drop locations. Nothing about 001 though. He boasted that knowing all double-o's was part of the benefits of being section chief.”

“Mycroft dug deep and showed M the evidence. One of the very few times I think my older brother actually did legwork come to think of it,” Q frowned as he looked to the side. He made a noise of interest before turning back to Bond who had a slightly mirthful quirk to his lips. “Besides my own identity as Ian Scott and as a double-o back then for the Safin family, he sold out some of the agents we inserted into FSB and their contacts. M was furious since they were long serving ones and the FSB-”

“Notorious for vetting every single agent in their employ for a long time. Even so, not a guarantee that you were completely safe,” Bond finished.

Q downed his second cup of tea, but declined to pour a third cup for himself. He would be leaving soon and there was more tea probably waiting for him when he got to MI6.

“Why sniper?”

“Would you believe that I didn't like seeing blood up close?” Q looked at the other agent before shaking his own head. “Sorry, not quite so much as didn't like, but rather I can get fixated if I see blood up close.”

“Fixated?”

“I start analyzing the way kills were done, angles, trajectories, how it could be done better, all of those things and more. I get a bit...lost if you will.”

Bond still looked a little confused, but nodded slowly. “I don't quite understand.”

“Hard to describe. The best way is probably if I see something defective, or I think is defective, I'll think of ways to fix it. Like taking apart that 9mm Sergeant Yung has at the range that's a terribly balanced weapon.

“To me, being up close to a kill, especially one I've done, makes me think of all the other ways I could have approached it. Not a good trait within a double-o to get so distracted by their kills. With a sniper scope, I see the shot, see the person fall and that's it once I remove myself from the scope. It's the same with a computer screen or hacking my way through. A deterrent that doesn't allow me to fixate. Sherlock is the same with crime scenes and the cases he assigns. He lets himself get lost in it. Mycroft is the same when he spies diplomatic or government opportunities. Thankfully Anthea keeps it in check otherwise, we'd be in World War III right now. Addicts, all of us.”

Bond's expression turned thoughtful. “You hacking is for you to compensate for it.”

“In ways yes,” Q smiled, happy that Bond immediately put together what he had replaced his fascination with kills and so forth with. “It helps from time to time.”

His phone pinged and he pulled it out of the pocket of his pants to see that the cab he had called to take him to MI6 had arrived. “My ride.”

“I'll drop you off,” Bond offered.

“No, James. You just got back and you need sleep. I'll see you tomorrow at the office.” Q stepped back from the counter and tilted his head. “Thank you for the tea and bourbon.”

Bond's lips curled into a satisfied smile as he acquiesced to Q's request to not send him. As much as Q figured stepping out of James Bond's car even at nearly midnight would still send the night shift into a rumor mill frenzy. He could tell Bond was not quite ready – and neither was Q – to make their relationship public. People would speculate and then the more ugly rumors would fly regarding sleeping with one another and so forth.

Why people equated relationships with sex was beyond Q.

“Quinn.”

Q grabbed his jacket and scarf from the coat hanger, putting both on before shooting a glance over to see Bond with the same satisfied smile he always got whenever Q wore his gift. Q merely chuckled and lifted a hand in goodbye before he headed out of Bond's flat. It was good to see Bond again after everything.

Chapter Text

“It's a fucking dead end, Q!” 003's tone was bordering on frantic, but still held the slightest edge of control.

“Close it behind you. It's not a dead end,” Q said calmly back as his finger flew over the keyboard. “Arthur, status.”

“Q its a maglock, I can't bar it! Andrew, keeping putting pressure on it!” 003 sounded fractionally calmer, but the control in the agent's tone wavered.

“Give us a few seconds, we're almost through the firewalls-”

“Nearly there sir! Ninty-eight percent!” Arthur's voice cut into Q's words.

He focused on a small cluster that had been giving him and Arthur some problems since 003 had infiltrated the site hours ago. This particular stubborn cluster was polymorphic and one of the few styles that Q did not quite like to deal with whenever hacking. At least they knew it was Nine-Eyes related considering it was a digital signature of sorts.

The distant pops of gunfire followed by grunts, including that of 003 attempting to hold the door for Q to override the maglocks, sounded over the earpiece, but Q tuned it out.

“Q!” 003's voice was strained. “Stay with me Andrew!”

“Almost there,” Q returned with the bland calmness that he knew would keep the agent from teetering over the edges of panic. Nothing about 003's mission since they stole into the facility after the hack was done was right. There were far more traps and redundancies than they thought possible. Most of it non-network and thus unhackable from MI6 and required the agent to be more on guard than possible. The local agent-on-site had gotten injured somewhere in the midst of escaping the facility and was bleeding out. The only consolation at this very moment was the thumb drive Q's minions outfitted 003 out before the agent went into the field proved useful for a wireless connectivity hack.

Q was already looking into the multiple shell companies to find out who was the person who actually ran the facility. M would want that person to be the next target if he or she was gunning to be the next head of whatever was left of SPECTRE.

“Some time today! Andrew, stop, stop, I got this-” 003 continued with a rather loud grunt. “...Fuckin' gun for hires!”

“Got it!” Arthur crowed from his seat.

Q typed in the last of the commands and the system he had been distracting from the thumb drive's work finally accepted his brute force hacking. He breathed a quiet sigh of relief as he heard the startled grunt from the double-o over the comms.

“Maglock in place, thank fucking God and the All Mighty,” 003's tone was one of relief before Q heard the draw of a stuttering breath.

He closed his eyes for a moment, long recognizing the sound from running so many mission. He could hear the soft denials from those in Q branch who recognized the same sounds over the comms. He opened his eyes at 003's words.

“Agent down.”

Q opened up the mission brief that listed all of the assets that were participating in this mission. Andrew Nivens was a seasoned agent and one that had been on MI6's shortlist for potential double-o status given a couple of years off. A somewhat popular man whenever his rotation took him back to MI6 or for his yearly Psych evals, he was well-liked by others. 003 was his mentor and had been excited to finally undertake a mission with the younger man.

Q typed in the words that would close his file and alert M to notify Nivens' next of kin. “I'm sorry, 003,” he said quietly.

There was an short electronic blast of 003's breath before the agent's voice came back, a little rough, but professional. “Apologies aren't necessary, Q. First day back and all.”

“No excuse,” Q replied kindly.

“...Yeah...thanks,” the agent cleared his throat, “good bloke. Could have been one of us.” He paused for a moment, clearly trying to keep his composure. “Retrieval?” There was a loud thump followed by even louder rattling.

“Negative.”

003's pregnant pause filled the comms for two long seconds before the agent's voice came over again, this time completely professional. “What's the route?”

There would be no retrieving Andrew Nivens' body from this facility as Q brought up another series of windows. He started to type. “Left, past two halls and through the pipeline. Two rights after that. Don't look back.” Out of the corner of his eyes, the large monitor that showed both 003's Smart Blood status as well as his location in the facility started to move. The pile of blues that crowded around the maglock door were still gathered, but Q typed faster. No one could escape the facility alive.

“North and South wings secured,” Arthur called out.

“East and West?”

“Working on it.”

Q spotted a blue dot at the same time one of the other minions who was assisting the mission made a noise. Q nodded curtly without looking at said minion to indicate he saw it too and tapped his comm. “003, detour down right two halls. We have an escapee.”

A grunt issued back as the agent's dot moved to intercept the escaped scientist in the facility. The blue dot shortly disappeared at the same time a bang was heard over the comms.

“Track one door right and two left. Path out,” Q replied. “Arthur.”

“East secured and West...now!”

Q waited the long seconds for 003 to get clear of both the facility and blast radius – his dot suddenly zooming away in the car he had been assigned this mission. Once he saw the double-o safely away, he turned back to the screen in front of him and typed in the last of the codes.

A prompt popped up asking if he wanted to execute the protocol. Q hit the enter button and watched as a countdown popped up on the terminal as the facility feed on the larger monitor flipped to a satellite view.

Ten seconds later the facility's windows flashed brightly with lethal amounts of radiation before exploding in a spectacular fireball seconds later.

“Mission accomplished 003. Come home,” Q stated over the comms, feeling the hum of satisfaction prickle underneath his skin. It felt good in a way that he had not felt for over a year. Q missed this, the adrenaline, the missions, the challenge of hacking his way through systems...

“Good to have you back Q, 003 signing off.”

Q removed his earpiece after he heard the definitive click and let himself become more aware of the activities within Q branch as the lights in the room brightened in response to the end of the mission.

Apparently, it was the start of the workday judging by how some of his minions were coming in with coffee and pastries, bringing the smell of the damp winter of London with them. Q rubbed his eyes and tensed his shoulder muscles for a few seconds before releasing them, feeling rather stiff and tired since he, Arthur and a couple of the more junior analysts (read: minions) had been walking 003 and Agent Nivens through the facility in the early hours of the morning.

“Q,” Arthur stepped away from his console with a hand out and Q grasped it, shaking it firmly. “Well done, sir, well done.”

“The same to you,” Q returned, “finish up, hand off and get some rest.”

“Yes, sir, thank you sir.” Arthur had the same tired look Q knew he himself sported, but the man had run a bulk of the mission before Q had stepped in to help. He had offered to take the second position and let Arthur be primary handler since grabbing the intelligence and blowing up the facility and scientists was the last step, but the other man deferred.

“Sir,” Arthur's smile dimmed a little, “I'd like to write the condolence letter for Agent Nivens if you will.”

Q nodded solemnly. “You knew him best in this context.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you again.”

The normal cheery mornings – even on mission mornings – that would have greeted the members of Q branch was subdued as each person who was coming in was informed about the loss of life in 003's mission. Q noted that they were more subdued, but no less professional as they started their work for the day.

He watched Arthur walk back to his desk to finish up the remaining threads of the mission and start his report. At the same time, he was aware of more than one pair of eyes on him and he turned his head a little to see Bond and 006, Nomi – still without a last name on her file – staring back.

They looked rather relaxed, which meant they had been watching for a while. When they had arrived, Q didn't know, but he could tell Bond did not take his advice to sleep when they had parted hours ago.

“Oh, hello 007, 006.” Tanner entered Q branch and his pronouncement startled a few of the nearest minions who had not realized two double-o's had been lurking in the shadows of the darkened room, now brightened so that even their unobtrusive spot was the opposite.

Q inwardly rolled his eyes as the startled minions eyed the double-o's with lots of blinking and nervous twitters. Even though Bond was an occasional presence in Q branch, the agent usually hung around Q's office – away from the easily spooked minions – unless he was being outfitted.

Q knew Nomi was never around except when she needed outfitting.

“Tanner,” Bond greeted blandly.

“Sir,” Nomi was more professional with a curt nod.

“Tanner,” Q called out to his friend who seemed to take in the agitated state of the nearest minions with some bemusement before walking over to Q.

“M asked me to bring you to him once you had wrapped up,” Tanner said, “Re-orientation and all.”

“Joy,” Q grabbed his mug of tea and downed it, grimacing at the cold, stale and very bitter taste. He had left the bag in his mug for many more hours than it needed to be in. “I need more tea, or jumper cables at this rate.” He reached out with his other hand and snatched up a pastry from the box Vanya was holding out towards him as she arrived to start her shift.

She beamed at him and carried the box to the others. Q ate it quickly, the sugar hitting him fast, energizing him. But he knew he definitely needed something with a little more substance considering his stomach still twisted from hunger. Since M wanted to see him, food from the commissary would probably have to wait. He set his mug down before gesturing for Tanner to precede him.

As he walked past Bond and 006, he gave them arched looks. “007, I know you are not on a mission. Please do not touch anything. The same to you 006, but you are both welcomed to stay.”

He did not miss the coughs of surprise from the nearby minions. Maybe it would do them good to have the double-o's hang around a bit. It kept them on their toes and would at least teach them to tell the double-o's to stop touching everything.

“Q,” Bond's mirth and affection was evident from the way his eyes bore into him.

“Quartermaster,” Nomi replied politely, shooting a look at her fellow agent. It seemed she picked up on Bond's tone, but did not say anything else.

Q left them like that and followed Tanner up to M's office.

“Q! Welcome back!” Moneypenny's embrace was warm and welcomed and Q returned it with equal measure.

“We see each other almost every weekend,” he chided gently.

“Not the same. You're not suspended and you're actually back where you belong!”

Q ducked his head, feeling a little embarrassed at the praise before Moneypenny gestured towards the closed door.

“He's available, though Tanner, he does have a call with the Prime Minister in fifteen minutes.”

“I think that should be enough. Warn the PM he may be a few minutes late if things go over,” Tanner looked resigned.

Moneypenny smiled. “I will. She'll have to learn that not everyone jumps at her beck and call.”

Q and Tanner both smiled at Moneypenny's statement as the other man opened the door to let Q in. “Sir,” Tanner's interruption brought M's head up from where he was apparently writing something down.

“Ah, Q, good,” M gestured for Q to proceed in and he did with a brief respectful nod before coming to a stop in front of M. Tanner closed the door behind him and stood to the side.

“Sir,” Q greeted.

“I saw Agent Nivens' file come across,” M started quietly, “he was a good man.”

“He was,” Q agreed, “Arthur is handling the condolence letter to the family and will have it for you by end of the day.”

M nodded before tapping a few keys on his computer. His demeanor became more serious as he looked back at Q. “I don't ask this lightly of you, but your return gives us an opportunity we need.”

Q flicked a look back at Tanner before staring at M. “A mole.”

“Or several,” M amended, “Since the Thomas Ashleigh Incident, we've been coordinating with Internal Affairs to weed out moles within MI5 and MI6. However-”

“There's evidence of ones in IA itself,” Q replied.

“Yes,” M let loose a deep breath and leaned forward, tenting his fingers together on his table. “Your unique skillset gives us the opportunity we need.”

“Wouldn't this violate your recommendations to the Board of Inquiry since I was cleared to return?” Q asked pointedly.

“Which is why this is off the books,” M shook his head, “only the three of us know and it must stay that way. You do have a choice-”

“I don't think I do,” Q interrupted with a firm look at M. “Only the illusion of one considering you know everything about me and of my skillset.”

“Tanner did mention a spot of remedial training incurred during the marksmanship evaluation,” M's eyes slid to Tanner for a moment who must have nodded behind Q's head and then turned back to Q. It seemed M dropped any illusion that there was a choice or attempts to couch it like Mycroft might have.

Q preferred M this way, all business and none of the attempts at shadowy politicking that Mycroft was known for. It was just not the other man's style even though he was a bureaucrat to begin with. He looked at his superior with a steady gaze. “I don't miss, no matter how bad the weapon is.”

“Do you suspect it is Mr. Triton or Ms. Willowsby?”

“Still gathering evidence,” Q shrugged, ignoring the twinge of pain from his pulled muscles. The icepack had helped, but the hours upon hours of typing in front of his keyboard did him no favors and an odd stiff feeling had settled into them.

M pressed his lips together, looking for a moment like he had swallowed something sour before leaning back against his chair. He kept his fingers tented together, but now rested them on his stomach. “What are your initial thoughts?”

“You've already concluded the mole or moles are the evaluators who don't handle double-o's. The agents would have already sniffed out the traitor. But with junior agents who haven't quite developed their skills yet along with new employees who may not know better, you know they're useless against a mole.

“Remedial classes are the only way to evaluate further as the initial phase would be too fast for someone like me to go through. You already knew that and scheduled the marksmanship one first. Normally it starts with physical evaluation then psych, marksmanship and finally medical.”

Q tilted his head slightly. “Psych isn't on your list because they evaluate the double-o's and are heavily vetted themselves. They don't have a junior counterpart. I think that's where your mole is.”

M's brow crinkled as he also frowned. “But the double-o's...”

“Everyone hates Psych, myself included. We're all in a high stress job so we have to get evaluated once a year, if not multiple times if we're field agents or double-o's. Psych can make or break a career regarding fitness for duty. You yourself are subjected to the evaluation on a yearly basis. It's the perfect cover for a mole and their recruit to pass messages along. A long term assignment or short term depending on who is assigned,” Q shrugged.

“So why remedial classes?”

“Paul needs better guns,” Q shrugged.

M scoffed with a shake of his head. “Please do not subject the new hires to Q branch technology just yet.”

“Also, I want Paul as my own set of eyes and ears for this, M.”

At this, M looked at him with narrowed eyes.

“What's never stated in a double-o's evaluation each time they're back from the field for evaluation is the range master. Paul Yung was my range master through many of my missions as 001, sir. Probably the only one left who did not die or retire in the intervening years when Silva blew up Vauxhall Cross.”

“He...never said-”

Q snorted quietly, shutting M up and the other man pursed his lips for a moment as he realized what he had started to say. MI6 dealt with secrets and intelligence. Who was to say that even the mere range master was not a secret keeper of sorts.

M looked at him again and nodded once. “All right, Paul Yung can be read in. I will also give you leave to do as you see fit. However-”

“I won't take any action against the mole or moles until you get a report from me,” Q understood what M was saying even before he said anything else. He knew M could be a bastard and ask for a complete step by step of what Q was planning, but M trusted him and trusted his instincts.

“One of the more contentious former double-o's,” M raised an eyebrow at him and Q smiled thinly back.

“Why M, I thought you said I was never one. It's not listed in my records.”

“Dismissed,” M shook his head at his barb and waved him away.

Q stood up and nodded once at his superior before turning and headed out. He knew Tanner would probably be back later in the afternoon to take him to medical and for psych. But, first, he needed to rewrite a couple of programs that had been deleted in his file purge.

Chapter Text

Q regretted not taking a nap in his office when he had the chance. His eyes felt gummed and scratched. His arm hurt, having been poke and prodded by Medical for the last two hours for his physical examination. Even he was wise enough not to put up much of a fuss when there were sharp needles and examination instruments all around.

Though he did entertain himself and stave off boredom by thinking of ways to kill with such instruments along with how he would hypothetically inflict them upon each person that had been in his line of vision in Medical. It allowed him to fully read and evaluate the doctors and nurses who examined him.

They were mostly cleared from suspicion.

But, now he was regretting not taking the nap. One year out from the hustle and bustle of MI6 and his body was not quite used to the hours he put on it without sleep. The only consolation was he remembered to properly feed and water himself while busying with more coding and rewriting programs.

Still, he forced himself to be more alert and was marginally grateful that the location of the psych evaluations were always in chilled interrogation rooms. The more uncomfortable one felt – even for agents – the more honest they would be.

He saw Tanner break away from him to go into the observation room while he himself entered the main room to see two psychologists waiting for him. One sat with a clipboard – her nametag reading [Dali] – while the other stood nearby holding another clipboard and some files with the name tag of [Charles].

“All right Quartermaster-”

“I'd like it to be noted in my file that considering the circumstances of my return to employment within MI6, I should not be subjected to a psych eval at this time when I've been cleared by a Board of Inquiry.”

Dr. Charles blinked, adjusting his glasses for a moment. Even Dr. Dali frowned and clutched her clipboard closer to her chest as she frowned at him.

“Maybe in a year, but immediately?” Q pointed out.

The doctor sitting in front of him cleared his throat politely. “Unfortunately we cannot make that decision now, but we ask that you please continue this evaluation. We will start with the word association test.”

“Under duress,” Q replied, “which I think my code word used to be merlin, if I remember correctly.”

The doctor looked a little put out by his response, but dutifully scratched a few things onto his clipboard. He cleared his throat again. “Now then, Quartermaster. Night.”

“Mission.”

“Day.”

“Tired.”

“Agent.”

“Gadgets. Unreturned mind you-”

“Please stick with single words.”

“Fine.”

“Man.”

“Merlin.”

“Woman.”

“Merlin.”

Q could see Dr. Charles give him a mild look while Dr. Dali was shaking her head. He knew his answers were making them completely confused compared to his benchmark year after year.

“Sunlight.”

“Vampire.”

“Moonlight.”

“Werewolf.”

“Murder.”

“Merlin. No wait, trident.”

Both doctors glared at him and he shrugged. “I remember that one to be my non-duress code word.”

“Gun.”

“Trident.”

“Computer.”

“Trident.”

“Man.”

“Trident.”

“Woman.”

“Trident.”

“M.”

“Merlin.”

Dr. Charles fell silent as he wrote a few things out on his clipboard before looking at Q again. “Thank you for your cooperation, Quartermaster. Let us continue-”

“I'm still filing this under merlin code word. Under duress when I was cleared by a Board of Inquiry.”

“I understand. And would like to posit this question to you. If you had to save a building full of children versus your mother, who would you save and why?”

There was always a variation of this question on the psych evaluations and Q already knew his own responses to said question. His normal modus operandi would be to pick it apart and ask more details regarding how and why of the scenarios – which would technically be his answer. He could see Dr. Dali and Charles ready to write down what was his normal answer and instead, leaned back against his chair, letting a little bit of the sociopath that was 001 into his posture. He could see the moment it made both of them slightly uncomfortable, not quite sure what was wrong, but not able to pinpoint such an uneasy feeling either.

“Neither,” he replied, keeping his voice light and even. Both doctors stared at him with concern in their eyes and he continued. “The answer is to find who would try to kill a building full of children or my mother if you suppose. And then kill them. Simple as that.”

It was an answer only a double-o would give.

“Why would you kill? Not capture?”

“There would be no use in keeping a person alive that would do such a thing. The motive for an either or situation hinges upon the more personal feelings of the antagonist to myself. Not for a notion of justice, but rather of usage. Clearly the more interesting factor after that would be to figure out who gave this person the means and motive. That's where the trail will go.”

Q tucked the bits of the double-o back into where it belonged and saw both doctors relax a little, but still stare at him with some concern as they finished scribbling across their clipboards. Dr. Charles opened his mouth to ask his next question and Q answered more normally like he always did.

The evaluation continued for the next fifteen or so minutes before Q was summarily dismissed and he stood up, nodding a goodbye the both doctors as he closed the door behind him. Tanner met him exiting the observation room and Q spied a couple of others within the room.

“Tanner,” he greeted before suppressing a yawn.

“Q,” the other man tilted his head, “did you get any sleep?”

“No,” Q admitted, this time covering his mouth with the back of his hand, “reports and coding.”

“We're done for today so if you want to head home early and get some rest...”

“Tell M to authorize it for tomorrow.”

“Q?”

“He'll know it when he sees it,” Q smiled slightly and tilted his head towards the door to the psych evaluation room.

The other man received the silent message and nodded.

“Good afternoon, Tanner,” Q said and left, headed back up to Q branch to collect his things and to go home to sleep.

Q was awakened by the feeling of a lazy hand carding through his hair and the warmth of a body pressing against his back. Even through the layers of blankets separating himself from the body, he instantly knew it was Bond who was in bed with him.

“Time?” he asked, not even bothering to blink open his eyes and instead, relaxed further into the ministrations. It almost made him want to go back to sleep, but he managed to keep himself somewhat awake. Bond in his flat was a rare thing in the past year. Bond in his bed was even rarer considering it was the second time.

“Too late to seduce you and too early for the Quartermaster to do his job,” Bond's reply gusted breaths against the back of his neck and Q felt goosebumps prickle there.

He chuckled sleepily. “My job is not a nine-to-five. And you can't seduce what you already have.”

Bond hummed in reply before he fell silent for a few seconds. “M is sending me out.”

“I'm not surprised.” As much as Q enjoyed the feel of Bond's hand carding through his hair, he could tell the agent was holding something back. He opened his eyes, still feeling tired and saw that it was pretty dark in his room. The sliver of light that managed to break through the blackout curtains enough to cast shadows told him that it was probably closer to the late night than the early morning hours.

Q shifted in his blankets and turned to meet the deep icy blues of Bond's eyes. The agent's expression was fond if a little apologetic.

“Sorry for waking you,” Bond murmured before leaning over a little to give him a peck on his lips.

“What's wrong?” Q asked, the hand that had been in his hair now trailing down the side of his face in a rhythmic gesture. Though he kept his eyes focused on Bond's own, he did not miss the peripherals that indicated Bond was planning on spending the night – a loose fitting tee-shirt and comfortable, but fitted sweatpants. It was definitely a step further in their relationship considering the one and only time Bond had been in Q's bed, the man had been in his customary suit and had just come back from a mission.

Bond only stayed a few hours back then, but the meaning had been clear – he needed somewhere he could feel safe to come down from a mission high without going through his usual motions. The covers had been replaced after Bond left. Bloodstains and gunpowder residue were hard to get out without drawing a lot of unwanted attention.

“You do have beautiful eyes,” Bond deflected with a light smile on his face.

Q's lips quirked up in appreciation of the compliment, but he shook his head against his pillow. “What's wrong, James?”

The agent's gaze turned a little more serious. “Will you be all right?”

Q's heart immediately melted at the question and he smiled fondly before extracting one of his hands that had been somewhat trapped in his blankets to reach over and cup Bond's face. Considering how reticent the agent was with expressing his emotions through words – and rather through actions – it was a large step in Bond opening up to him and embracing what Q had offered in this relationship to be able to say such words. To express vulnerability and concern for others instead of just through his actions.

“You were in the observation room?”

“M and Tanner suspect, but-”

“They probably been suspecting since Mycroft ordered you to go after me,” Q replied.

Bond nodded against his hand and absently kissed his palm before looking back at him.

“I'm finding it hard to separate myself from whom I built 001 to be. He is me, a version of me that I find not so much distasteful as much as I find him useful in certain situations. I don't want so much of that to this between us.”

Bond's expression and eyes changed a little. “Ah, so it's-”

“Not you,” Q immediately cut that particular thought off. “Never you. It's me.”

The blue eyes held his own for a long moment before Bond nodded once. “All right,” the agent reluctantly accepted.

“The temptation M's put out in front of me is like a drug, James. You know we're all addicts, all of the Holmes. And M knows what he's doing. Mycroft will give him hell when he finds out, but this is M's way of also apologizing.”

“To you?”

Q hummed his acknowledgment. Bond blinked once.

“He doesn't strike me as calculating as his predecessor.”

“No,” Q let his thumb rub against the small scar Bond had received from a long-ago mission across his cheek. It was almost invisible except for the way his skin felt. “She would have ripped it off like a band-aid and been done with it. I liked that about her. But what I can see happening is that this investigation is resolved and I regain double-o status, but only to be used in emergencies. Or perhaps only within MI6.”

Q pursed his lips for a second, “M is right, there are moles everywhere and even if IA could capture them all, someone needs to vet IA itself.” He sighed and leaned over to return the peck of affection on the agent's lips before resting his head back onto his pillow. “You're grounding me right now and its welcomed and liked, but I also need to be able to sort this out myself. To be what I want to be. Whom I want to be.”

“The instinct won't ever go away,” Bond warned.

“It won't,” Q agreed. “But I can make something of it.”

“We can make something of it.”

Q smiled and leaned over again to give a longer kiss to the double-o. “Thank you,” he murmured before reaching back to take Bond's hand that had been resting against his cheek and curl it into his own. “Sleep?”

Bond grunted in agreement before letting Q turn over once more. The agent settled their hands over Q's stomach as he pulled him closer to spoon against him. Q relaxed against Bond's chest before he closed his eyes to fall back asleep. It was nice and though it was skirting the edges of what Q really liked from his relationship with Bond, he also knew that he himself had to give and share what Bond wanted from this too.

Soon, agent and quartermaster were sound asleep in each other's arms.

Chapter Text

Q was not surprised to see Tanner walking into Q branch with another bemused expression on his face the next day.

“Total eight,” Tanner murmured with a canted head towards him.

Q nodded, absently reviewing the year's worth of budget requests that had been made during his absence. He was mostly paying attention to Bond's outfitting by Judith for his mission to Tangiers. It was related to 003's mission in the sense that Bond would be eliminating one of the warlords that had controlled the facility. Maximum damage and a statement in the aftermath. A hard mission considering word would have already gotten out, but it was also why M elected to send Bond. He was given leeway to do as much damage as he wanted against the gun-running warlord.

The respective intelligence agencies that had a stake in Tangiers had already signed off. Q even heard that Felix Leiter's protege, Paloma had been assigned as Bond's contact and partner in this mission.

“Two down, six more to go,” Q replied quietly.

“We can staff four-”

“Two,” Q shook his head once as he watched Judith show off the small but powerful Q branch technology that was developed specifically for this mission. Vanya would be Bond's primary handler, but Judith's expertise in weaponry merited her showing off the tech to the agent. “Three to make them suspect.”

Tanner flicked him a look and slowly nodded in understanding. “Leads?”

“A few,” Q could see Bond taking the small weapon in his hands before strapping the watch to his wrist with a faint smile. The agent looked over to him and Q raised an eyebrow at Bond. “Please do return the equipment intact,” he called out, earning a few covert smiles from the other Q branch staffers and junior minions.

“I would never dare dream of angering dear Judith,” Bond smirked.

“Oh, grow up 007,” Judith rolled her eyes and made a motion for Bond to leave. “You'll anger our Quartermaster instead will you?”

“Maybe,” Bond winked at him and Q sighed and shook his head. “I heard his anger is a sight to behold...or not. Garland explosives and that sort.”

“Or not,” Judith's tone was both a warning and one of exasperation. “Tanner gets privileges to loiter. You haven't earned them yet. None of you double-o's no matter how much you attempt to be unobtrusively loitering, waiting for unfinished tech.”

“Good luck Bond,” Tanner had a crooked smile on his face as the agent turned and left, stride assured and already mission-focused. M's Chief of Staff shook his head a little before turning back to Q. Under his breath he said, “Eve says there's something going on between the two of you.”

“Eve's been saying that for over a year now,” Q replied lightly. “She sees what she wants to see.” Q was honestly surprised Tanner or even M had not picked up the fact that he and Bond had been seeing each other. He was not surprised that Moneypenny was still trying to figure things out – only M, Tanner and Mycroft had access to his tracker when he was under suspension. One only needed to overlay the double-o's Smart Blood in order to figure out certain things at certain times.

Tanner suddenly leaned closer, voice low. “I wouldn't say he's good for you, but I think you're good for him.”

Q blinked, whipping his head to stare at the other man who had a slight smile on his lips. So Tanner did figure it out. Q returned the smile with a barely suppressed one of his own.

“I'm waiting to win the bet,” Tanner replied, his smile widening, indicating that no one else had figured it out yet – not even M.

“Just for that, custom gadget, whatever you want,” Q shot back quietly, pleased with his friend's deductive abilities.

Tanner immediately drew away and crossed his hands in front of him with a chuckle. “Oh no, I am not being ambushed by the double-o section and slowly tortured because I've incurred their jealousy.”

Q laughed, drawing the attention of the others in the room before he waved them back to whatever they were doing. “Clever and forward thinking,” he said before locking his workstation and inclined his head towards the entrance. “Shall we?”

“After you, Quartermaster.”

They headed back down to the interrogation rooms with Tanner entering the observation room first. However, Q paused with his hand on the door handle to the interrogation portion. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly as he stared at nothing in particular. It only took a moment, but to Q it felt like wearing an old familiar jacket – slipping on the persona that was 001. The Quartermaster was tucked safely away and 001 let the thin smile that never reached his eyes fall upon his face as he opened the door and strolled in.

He watched with a sense of disdain at two pairs of eyes alighted upon him before both Psych evaluators blinked in confusion and stared more intently at him. A part of him that was Q recognized the two, Dr. Messery and Alvarez. They were the ones most frequent in Q's yearly evaluation.

“Q-Quartermaster,” Dr. Alvarez was the first to recover and she gestured to the chair in front of her. Dr. Messery adjusted his glasses and frowned as he stood in the corner, clipboard in hand.

“Dr. Alvarez, you're looking well,” 001 said smoothly as he took the seat in front of him and folded his hands neatly on the table. “How are you children? Your two-year-old must be energetic, much like your husband, to have caused an accidental stain on your clothes. And your four-year-old, he is of that age when the word 'no' is usually the main cause of a lot of fighting before putting him down to sleep. My sympathies to you and your husband.”

Alvarez started before pasting a hasty smile on her face at the sudden burst of small talk. “A-Astute observations Quartermaster. I did not realize you knew about my children.”

“I have my ways,” 001 lied smoothly as he shot a look at Dr. Messery whose frown grew deeper. “Dr. Messery, I hope you are well too. You may wish to hide or wipe away that lipstick stain from your wife before you leave today.”

Messery jumped, staring down at his collared shirt, brow crinkling before looking back up at 001 with confusion on his face-

“Your neck, Doctor,” 001 flashed him an approximation of a sympathetic smile. “Right underneath the collar. It is a bit hard to hide that bruise on your collarbone and stain of lipstick trailing down. Not to mention you've a...glow about you.”

Messery turned bright red.

“If Human Resources are notified, I'm sure it won't be a violation of MI6's sexual harassment policies. They do acknowledge consensual relationships, though advise that if in event of a breakup, one of the parties leaves MI6 so not to potentially compromise any assets,” 001 sympathized with the Quartermaster part of him that absolutely found that particular module boring. Between the double-o's and their innuendos, varying attempts to seduce, cajole and wheedle Q branch for technologies, it was a miracle that none of the members of the branch actually reported incidents to HR.

The double-o's knew not to go over the line, especially after one particular incident early in the years following Q's promotion to head of the department. Instead, they toed it – sometimes oddly protectively. They also had instincts that told them when they were pushing it made them stop. Most of the time. The rest was usually up to Q to firmly put them in their place.

As for the rest of MI6...001 doubted their instincts.

“Quartermaster, we know you disdain these types of evaluations, but there is no need to be so contemptible about it-”

“Doctor,” 001 looked back at Alvarez, “I am merely pointing out things. If there is an inference of contempt, then it is of your own volition and understanding of my words. I merely asked after your family-”

“And abuse of your privileges to look up my file-”

“You have some cracker crumbs and sour cream stains on your cardigan underneath your labcoat, Doctor. Two-year-olds tend to throw food everywhere. Your blouse is also frayed at the buttons, indicating you've let your four-year-old button you up today in an effort to placate him to help 'mommy' get ready for work, so to speak. You have an wedding ring on your finger which means you are married and not divorced. Your marriage is a bit strained due to the secrecy of MI6, but that is normal for most people in our line of business. You've kept it mostly pristine, which means you love your husband very much and rarely take the ring off.”

He flashed a thin smile at her and saw her attempt to tamp down on her twitch that indicated she was highly uncomfortable and maybe a bit fearful of him at the moment. Her nostrils flared for a second as she tried to compose herself before setting her folders and clipboard down in front of her.

“Let us proceed to the word association test then, shall we?” She finally asked with a grimace on her face.

001 released his own hands and gestured with a bit of flare towards the doctor to proceed. It was laughable to see the doctor attempt to control the interview in this instance, but he was feeling rather generous. She was not the mole.

“Day.”

“Wasted.”

“Night.”

“Seduction.”

Both doctors twitched. 001 kept his expression on the edge of disdain and neutrality.

“Man.”

“Target.”

“Woman.”

“Target.”

“Agent.”

“Ally.”

“Sunlight.”

“Mission.”

“Moonlight.”

“Shadow.”

“Gun.”

“Weapon.”

“Computer.”

“Weapon.”

“Murder.”

“Employment.”

The doctors twitched again, but Alvarez was faster in recovering and continued as if she was not bothered by his answer. He liked seeing that in her.

“M.”

“Bastard.”

Alvarez scratched something across her clipboard before looking at him. He could see the fear in her eyes, but she was valiantly shuttering them behind a facsimile of a professional demeanor. His answers this time around definitely rattled both doctors – and in a slight fit of annoyance, he hoped it rattled M. 001 was meant to stay dead. It was also a pity most of his psychological files during his time as 001 were gone from existence in MI6's files, even the paper ones. His answers had skewed quite close to his time as a double-o agent if not for the slight misdirection that was still Q.

“You indicated in your last evaluation that your codewords for duress and no duress were 'merlin' and 'trident'. With the understanding that the code words were sometimes picked with random, what do you make of your code words?”

“Poetic,” 001 replied, leaning back against his chair and adopting a more relaxed and easy posture but no less predatory. Like a very large cat batting around with prey. “Both weapons, but one used offensively the other defensively.”

“Why do you think that?”

“Why not indeed?” 001 crossed his ankles together, relaxing further. “Speed and agility of a merlin for hunting. Duress to where someone like myself would require speed and efficiency in retrieval and the elimination of the threat that made me say my codewords.

“But a trident, a weapon used both offensively and defensively. Where one could provide a three-prong answer if one wants to take it literally. But perhaps it is more akin to a three-prong approach. Take our good Dr. Messery. He is most certainly having an affair – a most lovely woman in Accounting if I believe to be correct – but he is and has been expressing a curiosity each time I am here.”

Alvarez flicked a look back and 001 smiled slightly at blush that spread across Dr. Messery's cheeks before the other man looked down to his clipboard.

“As much as you may be fascinated by me since I've stepped in here, I am sorry to say doctor, I will have to turn you down. I am pleased you've noticed, but I have no intention of entangling myself in your fantasies of a threesome – my codeword not withstanding.”

Dr. Messery spluttered, turning bright red again. 001 let him go on for a few seconds before he managed to force out a couple of words. “You- you-that's- That's-”

“Please do not consider writing that email to me you were more than likely going to after this evaluation. Even if it was under the impression of figuring me out as you just wrote on your clipboard, the odds of seducing someone like myself to fulfill whatever fantasies you have is grounds for a report to Human Resources on our harassment policy.

“You can thank the modules I had to take since my return two days ago,” 001 added dryly. He looked at Alvarez and let his shark-tooth smile flash at her. “I think we're done.”

001 stood up and walked out of the interrogation room, leaving two bewildered psychologists.

Chapter Text

“Alvarez is clean,” Q accepted the glass that M handed to him as he pinched the bridge of his nose for second. He released it and rubbed his forehead to alleviate the slight headache he had from staring at his screens for a bulk of the afternoon. It was also to dash away the remnants of 001 that he had embraced for his second psychological evaluation session. He lowered his hand and sipped the whiskey, letting the rich alcohol go down his throat in a smooth manner.

M was definitely worried if he gave him this strong of a drink.

“I'm fine,” he added. “Tired, but fine.”

“I can have Messery suspended-”

“Leave him,” Q waved the hand that held the glass towards M who had been walking back to his desk. He had not bothered to sit down when Tanner brought him before M in the late hours of the early evening. “But, I want Alvarez also read in.”

“Q?” Tanner held his own glass, but seemed to consider not even drinking a single drop.

“Alvarez is clean. She's also very smart and quick to pick up things. I daresay if you show her Mycroft's copies of my 001 files, she'll be able to put two and two together. Best, she can help figure out who is the mole in her department. She may not be head of Medical itself, but she is a reliable third-in-command.”

M looked at him for a moment before nodding. “She'll be read in. As for Dr. Messery, I do want him alive, Q.”

Q let a slightly bitter smile appear on his lips as he sipped his drink. The alcohol was still smooth down his throat. “Don't worry, sir. I doubt Dr. Messery has as much fortitude as a double-o.”

M sighed and nodded. Tanner merely gave Q a reassuring smile. Tanner had been the only witness of the three of them – aside from Q's minions, Bond and 009 who had been coincidentally at Q branch to be outfitted – to Q's handling of a certain double-o who had crossed the unspoken line to full on harassment.

Said double-o was still working for MI6, but the man knew better now. And always requested Q to handle his missions – to keep him on the straight and narrow as 004 had put in his report. Grateful that he still had a job due to Q's personal intervention.

If it made the double-o's a little more protective of the Q branchers, all the better. If it spread rumors like wildfire how serious the policy was regarding harassment and that MI6 was no longer operating in the old Cold War and early Aughts mentality and machismo, then all the more better.

It was not quite the #MeToo movement, but it at least brought about a sense of modernity and understanding that the old ways were good and all, but only for certain aspects. MI6 needed to be more modern to fight their enemies and fighting petty harassment battles within was not one of them.

“Staff Sergeant Yung has been read in as of yesterday, Q.” M reported.

“Good,” Q was pleased that M was giving him a lot of leeway with how he wanted to proceed.

“Tanner said three to draw suspicion?”

“We have four more to go, but with Alvarez read in, she can have the fourth one in the observation room with her. The other three can be in the room.” Q took another sip of his whiskey. “I'll send the profiles of the recruits later tonight.”

“Profiles?”

“The mole or moles would have already established contact and develop contacts within the newer recruits for the past year. Small things first things first. Give the list to Alvarez once she's read in and she'll be able to run their profiles through you.”

He saw the moment M figured out what his real plan was before the older man set his glass down onto his table and rounded it. M sat down and tented his fingers onto his desk before staring up at Q. “Normally these decisions are made by me and me alone, but considering how much stake you have in this – what are your thoughts?”

“Depending on whom the mole or moles are and how we can control them. As well as the asset they've recruited. Are we sure this is connected to Nine-Eyes?”

“Yes, but with this many and in both Five and Six-”

“There has to be someone higher that is controlling this. Remnants of SPECTRE? Magnussen's empire? Jim Moriarty's criminal enterprises? Someone new?”

“The PM is worried,” Tanner added quietly from where he stood and Q flicked a look at his friend. “She's not popular and though she hasn't been fully read in-”

“She's not even at forty-five days of becoming PM,” Q interjected. “My lettuce hasn't even begun to rot.”

To his amusement Tanner rolled his eyes at him, a testament to how close they were as friends. M coughed and Tanner immediately straightened and cleared his throat politely. “In wake of Brexit, our intelligence apparatus needs to be strong. She has been briefed since Five found their mole, but it's not a good look.”

“Fighting from within,” Q murmured before looking back at M. “It truly will depend on whom it is, sir.”

“Giving them a chance to put another in if we eliminate the person, but do it in the wrong way...” M murmured, rubbing his lip before sighing and taking a long sip of his drink. He grimaced.

The silence that stretched between them was long and thoughtful. Q eyed his superior for a moment before setting his glass down onto a side table. “Sir, if you'll excuse me.”

M grunted in acknowledgment, clearly still lost in his thoughts, but just as Q went to open the door, the older man spoke up. “Q.”

“Sir?” Q glanced back.

“I trust your judgment.”

Q smiled slightly. “Yes, sir.”

There was no double-o agent crawling into bed with him that night, but neither was there the plush couch and familiar scents of gunpowder and metal that Q was familiar with. He slept, woke and went to work as usual the next day, busy rewriting his programs and updating himself on Q branch's happenings. It was only the quiet thunk of something being put onto his general workstation made him glance up to see both Arthur and a handsome man standing nearby.

Said handsome man had a strong jaw, chiseled like what beauty standards these days were looking for if they said superhero. His hair was coiffed and his eyes a kind green that sparkled – at least according to Q branch gossip. Q couldn't quite tell what a 'sparkle' was, but he had to admit, even by standards of all double-o's, 003 – Nathan Johnson, was a rather handsome bloke.

And probably one of the kindest double-o's one could ever meet. Completely unassuming, with not even the hint of predatory gait that all double-o's were known for, 003 could easily exist as an ordinary citizen.

Minus the fact that he could break a person's neck with one hand. 003 loved the gym and bodybuilding, keeping his physique up to Olympian levels even in the times he was grounded. Underneath the tailored jacket he wore was dense muscles and strength that enabled him to be very active in the field.

Most of the double-o's kept their fitness levels up, but 003 tended to outshine them, even Bond, when it came to sheer strength. A gentle giant though, completely friendly and polite to all staff members – he was the most paired with senior agents in consideration for future double-o status. And thus saw the most deaths of said senior agents whenever a mission went sideways or if the agent was in danger.

“003?” Q blinked before glancing down at what had been set on his table.

“Intact,” 003 looked proud, his smile showing off perfect set of teeth. “Arthur said-”

“-Reward for bringing back intact gear,” Q replied, “that's...what...seventh-”

“Eighth, sir,” Arthur jumped in.

Q picked up the palm-print encoded Beretta 92 that was customized to 003 and saw it light up in his hand. He smiled slightly and dropped the cartridge to see how many bullets were left before chambering it back up and setting it down. He moved over to the next object and picked it up, examining it carefully, but not quite depressing the button in case there was leftover discharge from it.

“Knocked six guards out with two bursts of fifteen each. They were about five feet from me with each blast,” 003 provided helpfully. “It's in my AAR.”

“Thank you,” Q replied absently as he set the object down. Since 006 was given a sonic discharger over a year ago, a lot of the double-o's wanted one, finding it more useful than some of the other gadgets. It made it a lot easier to take down multitude of guards in a quiet and efficient manner.

“And this little thing,” 003 reached over to place the credit-card like fob to his Lotus. “In the garage, level 1. A little scratched due to some aggressive maneuvers needed, but intact.”

Q huffed an impressed breath as he looked at all of the objects on his workstation and up at 003 who looked – for all intents and purposes – like a young schoolboy who was waiting for a teacher's pleased judgment. If said schoolboy could also kill in an instant. “All right,” Q said before typing on his computer to bring up 003's file. He added a notation for [prototype approved], saved it and closed the file.

He did not miss the widening of 003's smile. “Well done, 003. Your next mission will receive one of our untested prototypes. I will tell you it is not the exploding pen as every single one of you have been requesting, but it will impact whatever your next mission with guaranteed results.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Guaranteed results usually meant explosives and Q knew from experience how much of a satisfaction an explosive was against an enemy base. Most of the time, the agents had to produce the explosive from within or carry conventional C4s and grenades. Q branch explosives were designed for maximum impact with minimal efforts and a minimalist profile.

“Arthur probably already said this, but you did the best you could under circumstances, 003. Agent Nivens was a good man and a good agent. I'm sorry you had to leave him behind.”

“Yes, sir,” the smile dimmed, but 003's green eyes looked grateful as he nodded grimly. “Thank you, sir. The same to you Arthur.” He nodded once at them before leaving.

Q glanced at his senior minion who had a wistful look about him after 003 left. He could easily read that Arthur was also mourning in his own way for the loss of Agent Nivens, but it was tinged with the same sadness that always lingered whenever 003 had a mission where a senior agent died. It was not his place to say anything and Q usually turned a blind eye – especially considering his own hypocritical ways – but this time, he felt like he had to speak up. If not as Arthur's superior, but also as his friend.

“Discreet and it cannot be known.”

Like Q running a majority of Bond's missions, Arthur ran the bulk of 003's missions. And like 003, Arthur had seen a lot of the senior agents go out into the field, be mentored by 003, and end up dead when the missions went sideways. How the man coped Q did not want to know since it was his employee's off time, but in this case, Q was still channeling bits and pieces of 001 due to his own internal investigation and so caught more than he normally would.

Arthur twitched and looked at him. He returned the look with a mostly bland one, but with the hint of warning in it. If Arthur was considering what he was considering, then Q would turn or continue to turn a blind eye towards it, only if it did not get out.

Government employees in a relationship with one another had to disclose to their superiors, especially if it affected the chain of command. A Q brancher running a double-o was definitely within the chain of command – considering said voice could order the death of the agent or compromise the mission itself. Libido was such a tiresome thing in Q's opinion.

Arthur nodded, all the more grateful.

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir,” Arthur gathered up the remnants of the tech 003 left behind and headed back to his desk to formally catalog them for processing.

Tanner had not made anymore comments since giving his tacit approval, but Q knew Tanner also knew the rules. Even if Q considered his relationship with Bond as some more than colleagues and if he could not give that order that could have a mission succeed even if Bond died in the process, then he was compromised.

And Q respected Bond's long years of service and history too much to jeopardize Queen and Country.

He continued to work, writing lines of code, finishing parts of 003's mission report to attach to Arthur's work, up until Tanner walked into Q branch for what should be the last of his full evaluation for the week. The physical.

“'Bout that time, eh?” Q murmured, trying for an old Aughts meme which had been wildly popular in the United States and spread across Europe through the university students.

Tanner did not manage to roll his eyes, but it was a close thing. “I'm sure there would be missiles somewhere, Q.”

“Not with the French,” Q murmured in reply as he put the last touches on his program and saved it. He was satisfied with the results. The next time someone asked him to do compliance training, he was going to run this program and no one would be any wiser.

If it helped the double-o's bypass a few types of governmental security systems, all the more better. He figured he could bribe them with this program to return a majority of his equipment intact. Maybe even convince Bond to at least try. Maybe.

He locked his station and glanced at his friend. The corner of Tanner's lips quirked up in a grim smile and together the two of them head out of Q branch once more. While Tanner was always welcomed in Q branch – the minions, both senior and junior really adored him since the Thomas Ashleigh Incident – seemed quite puzzled at his repeated appearance for the third afternoon in a row, especially escorting Q when it was clear Q could go himself.

Granted, Q sometimes forgot to go to certain meetings and did need someone to drag him away, but his minions knew this was just simple full evaluation – no need for an escort.

“MTAC,” Tanner offered quietly as they took the lift down to the gym. “Then walk from there.”

“Too many eyes,” Q shook his head. “It'll be up to me, Alvarez and Paul to handle.”

Tanner did not look happy, but nonetheless nodded. “All right. See you in psych.”

Q pushed open the door to the locker room and quickly changed into sweats and tee-shirt before exiting and entering the gym proper. He saw the three IA personnel assigned to evaluate a personnel's fitness and mentally cataloged them against the doctors and nurses in Medical he had seen yesterday. They were all familiar – and not under suspicion.

The physical fitness portion of the full evaluation went quickly after that with Q a little slower than the last time he took a physical fitness evaluation seventeen years ago. Q chalked it up to age and the fact that as Quartermaster, he had not kept up the fitness habits that made him a double-o. He still exercised and took walks to make sure he was somewhat active, but his routine had died down considerably once he had been desk-bound.

Q found himself in the interrogation room a few hours later, feeling sore all over from his physical evaluation. He let himself slouch there and stared at the three doctors that had been summoned to evaluate him in this third go-around. He did not need to glance at the one-way mirror to know Dr. Alvarez was in the room with the last of the doctors they needed to deduce as the mole. The three in front of him had nametags of [Hernan], [Chen] and [Rigsby]. He noted all wore earwigs.

“Quartermaster, we do apologize for summoning you here for a third day in a row-”

“Why?” Q did not need to force the annoyance and exhaustion in his tone. He let himself slouch in a relaxed fashion into the chair.

“Well, er,” Dr. Rigsby tucked a wisp of her blonde hair behind her ear, “there's been some abnormalities in your tests-”

“I hardly think me saying my codewords is an abnormality unless Psych thinks me using my codewords is contrary to what I deem a waste of my time considering I have been cleared by a Board of Inquiry.”

“Well, yes, but we'd like to ascertain-”

“Just tell me the word associations. And your questions. And I can call it a day and go back to doing real work. Why Physical put me through a double-o routine instead of the usual is beyond me,” Q grimaced as he pulled himself into a more upright sitting position.

He did not miss the slight frowns on the three psychologists' faces. Though it had been a surprise regarding the physical test today, he suspected it was Dr. Alvarez's way of testing the reactions of her colleagues. Probably also a slight dig at himself for putting her through hell during yesterday's session, but he would not begrudge a smart woman playing the spy game like he did.

She had been long versed in the various double-o's, including Bond himself, for their abilities in both physicality and mentality to move like quicksilver.

“Right,” Dr. Chen adjusted his glasses, sitting directly across from him with Dr. Rigsby next to him. Dr. Hernan was standing behind them near the observation window. “Country.”

“England.”

“M.”

“Superior,” Q could tell they were going to mix up both the double-o word test and ones used for regular employees. However, in a new twist, it was Dr. Rigsby who said the word instead of Dr. Chen.

“Murder.”

“Crime.”

“Computer.” The word had bounced back to Dr. Chen. He rubbed his lower mouth in reflex.

“Data.”

“Woman.”

“Informant.”

“Man.”

“Informant.”

“Gun.”

“Q branch.” Q caught Dr. Hernan attempting to suppress a yawn with his clipboard and hand. It seemed like he was getting bored with nothing exactly exciting in the word association test.

“Day.”

“Wasted.”

“Night.”

“Sleep.”

“Silva.”

Q let the barest hint of a crooked smile appear on the corner of his lips. “Mistake.”

“Sunlight.”

“Warm.”

“Moonlight.” Dr. Rigsby said it, putting a closed fist to her mouth to cough light into it before taking a sip of her own water bottle.

“Beauty.”

“Safin.”

Q immediately honed in on the three doctors even though it was Dr. Chen who said it. He read them quickly to try to figure out how they knew the name when the mission was highly classified. It was for M's eyes only and not even for consumption by the psychologists. All that had been stated was that the Quartermaster was on suspension for one year pending a Board of Inquiry to all employees. Even Q's file had just listed the reason for suspension was disobedience of orders. Nothing about an explosion in Paddington, nothing about his treatments for anthrax and injuries. Nothing about 007's help in destroying the South China Sea base. Nothing.

“Safin.”

Q realized he had inadvertently let the silence hang for a little too long and blinked once at the doctors who stared back impassively. None of them had known about Safin, yet all three were staring at him now knowing that it was something that was making him uncharacteristically pause.

He would make the best of it even if it did catch him a little off guard. The mole was very clever to do such a thing.

“Classified.”

The psychologists all frowned at his answer, scratching notes away before Dr. Rigsby cleared her throat lightly. “We'd like to revisit one of your answers to a question posed by one of our colleagues a few days ago. If you had to save a building full of children versus your mother, who would you save and why? Has your answered changed?”

“Ah,” Q folded his hands across his stomach and continued to adopt the relaxed postures. “You're referring to why just bypass saving either the children or my mother to go kill the source, correct?”

“Yes.”

“I did think on my answer.” Q did not, but adopted an approximation of a kind smile on his face. It was easy to let them think they rattled him in his last word association answer. “I suppose as a knee jerk reaction and considering what Q branch has done for agents and missions, we would go after the source first and not consider whom we're saving. But if it did personally happen to me, I'd try to save the children or my mother first.”

“Oh?”

“Going after the source does take time. And it would be quite personal at that point. The judgment of going after someone when they've compromised you would make them sloppy – especially in intelligence work. It's best to leave it for someone else who has a more impersonal stake in this.”

Dr. Chen lifted a hand to signal he wanted to take over. “Given that answer, we know Q branch and yourself were betrayed by Thomas Ashleigh some time ago. What do you think you would have done differently?”

“Well, I'm glad the sniper did take Mr. Ashleigh out,” Q shrugged. “But could there have been anything done differently? I don't know. Hindsight does give us the opportunity to self-flagellate or to regret choices. I did not hire Mr. Ashleigh, but I was eventually in charge of him and promoted him time and time again until he received the position of R. Do I regret it now? Yes. Back then? No.”

“Would you have saved him or saved the members of Q branch?”

“From the sniper's shot? No,” Q shook his head. “He betrayed MI6. He betrayed the country and Her Majesty. And as far as I know, no Q branch member needed saving once the sniper took him out.”

“There were C4 strung up everywhere. That must have been stressful.”

“We're all used to the danger of the technologies we work with, doctor,” Q allowed the touch of 001 into his movement and answer.

Whomever the mole was – he or she was very good at hiding among the doctors. Q knew that his answers, while quite neutral, would draw out the mole. Thomas Ashleigh might have been a reluctant agent of last-resort and did not want to do what he had been conditioned to do, but Thomas Ashleigh nonetheless did it. The man paid for it with his life.

This mole, though...this mole was very willing to get their hands dirty. And Q had to admit – he was having fun drawing the mole out.

Chapter Text

“Orders, sir?”

Q was too much of a professional to startle at the question, but he was surprised at Sergeant Paul Yung's presence. The scuff of boots was the only warning he had received before the older man appeared from the dark shadows of the underground gun range.

He instead, concentrated on tightening the screw to the Beretta he had been fiddling with. A couple of other different 9mm-type of guns were scattered across the table of the range, but Q had already finished examining them and determined them to be adequate.

“You really need to get Finance to give you a budget to replace these every three years,” he kept his tone light as he finished and set the tool down. “Fixed what I could, but they don't even serve well for our new hires, much less others getting their marksmanship scores.”

“Yes, sir,” Paul replied politely.

Q took up the Beretta he had fixed and sighted down the sights. It was finally straight enough to his liking. He set the gun down and placed his earmuffs over his ear before picking the gun back up. Reaching over, he inserted the magazine and chambered a round. Flicking the safety off, Q loosened his posture and stance before firing several times.

The recoil was normal, but he smiled in grim satisfaction as he flicked the safety back on and set the gun down onto the table. He removed the muffs and saw that his shots were all nicely clustered within the head of the paper target. There was something that felt right to not pretend and let his own skill speak for itself.

“Joseph Smith, Anya Reagan, Liu Kee-Lim and Emily Ozzel. All four of them will need to be watched carefully when they are in classes with the marksmanship instructors.”

“Sir,” Paul said behind him.

Q did not look at the older man as he reached over to pick up the smaller Glock 26. This was 003's favored concealed weapon, a subcompact handgun that had a wider trigger guard to prevent accidental brushes of the trigger. Q had long figured out how to use the encoded palmprint technology on it (Bond's favored Walther PPK being his test subject), but he wanted to see if there was a way to fiddle with the guard so that it registered 003's fingerprints to quickly fire instead of putting his whole palm on it.

He dropped the magazine and checked through the sights. Adequate, though this particular model was a little worse for wear. Most of the agents and trainees preferred the Glock 26 as their concealed weapon. Bond and Nomi – of all people – preferred the Walther PPKs.

“How have you been, Paul?” he asked conversationally, reaching over for his tools and making minute tweaks to the screws of the Glock. This one felt just a hair off and he figured it was the worn sight combined with the chamber and grip held tightly one too many times in the trainees' hands.

“Well, sir. The missus sends her best. How about yourself?” Paul replied kindly.

“Tired, but good. Not particularly fond of this business, but we do what we can.”

“Yes, sir. It is unusual to see you like this,” Paul's voice did not sound kind or sympathetic, but Q took the words for what it was. “You have not lost your touch.”

Q grunted as he finished with his tweaking and reached over to place the ear muffs back onto his ears. He set his tools aside once more, slammed the cartridge home again before flicking the safety off and fired several times.

Setting the gun back down he took his earmuffs off and smiled grimly again at the cluster of bullets that had found their home near the heart and center mass of the paper target.

“Vanya has an experiment she'd like to test at the range in a couple of days. It may be slightly explosive. Geoff's work,” Q warned. He had approved Vanya's request when she brought him takeout from a nearby Indian place a few hours earlier. He would not say it was a bribe, but he did enjoy that particular restaurant she frequented.

“I'll ensure the range will be set up. Or do we need the outdoors one?”

“Indoors first. Then we'll see about outdoors,” Q replied. He glanced over his shoulder, beyond the older man's form just as Paul stiffened and placed a hand on the butt of his service weapon.

“Dr. Alvarez.” Q nodded towards Paul who relaxed as the doctor walked in with a serious expression on her face.

“I would not have believed if I was not informed to stay late today. Clandestine meetings are not exactly my forte, double-er...Quartermaster.”

“How was your colleague today?” Q ignored the attempts from the doctor to bait him into telling her more about his previous files. Whatever Mycroft had deemed to share with her was enough. He trusted his eldest brother to do that. The only ones that needed to know his whole history since his employment at MI6 were already in the know.

“Dr. Larson was speaking to the others. Not much, but gave commands indicating when they were to switch and when they were to ask questions.”

“Your thoughts?”

“Perfunctory. He doesn't strike me as someone who was...in charge.”

“Why not?”

“Larson's been with the department for the last five years. A relatively new hire. Not quite established as someone like Dr. Chen or even Dr. Rigsby.”

Q reached over to his third service weapon, a SIG Sauer P320 and sighted down it. He dropped the magazine and hefted the gun without it. This one was surprisingly balanced. Q glanced at Paul. “I take it you like this one the best?”

“Sir,” Paul did not smile, but there was a glint of pride in his eyes.

Q sighed and looked back down through the sights. “You would have made a decent field agent, Paul.”

“Bad knee,” Paul Yung had served in Section S, South America, during the eighties and early nineties as one of the station's senior agents. He would have been a contender to the double-o program had a bad knee injury on a mission gone sideways not sidelined him for active field work.

Q hummed in agreement before he turned his attention back to Dr. Alvarez. Out of the corner of his eyes, he could see her look back and forth between him and Paul. Whatever the woman thought of their banter, she kept quiet and it was another sense of growing admiration for her that Q relented a little bit in his indifferent attitude towards her.

“You do realize that whichever of your colleagues you identify may end up on the other side of this barrel,” Q shoved the cartridge back in and sighted again, hefting the gun a little to get a feel for the weight. The SIG Sauer was definitely heavier than the other two guns, but it seemed serviceable. He set the gun back down, but did not reach for his earmuffs. Considering it was Paul's favored weapon, there was no need to test it.

“I know,” the doctor's tone was quiet, but there was no fear. “A part of me says that someone who hasn't performed the duties of a double-o for a while will hesitate, but you strike me as someone who won't hesitate to pull a trigger. You do so in front of your computers.”

Q tilted his chin down and towards her, but did not look at her. “You're very kind to say that.”

“You have an idea of whom,” Dr. Alvarez stated her next words as fact instead of a question.

“Dr. Rigsby, Charles and Larson.”

“But Larson is new-”

“Larson was installed after the Skyfall Incident after the politicians insisted we had to have some accountability.”

“Accountability doesn't conclude the fact that he's a mole, Quartermaster,” Alvarez sounded hurt.

“No, but he does have political connections,” Q replied, “he may not be the mole, but he is using the psychological reports to run it up to others. Reports that are under classification and not for consumption of other committees including intelligence ones.”

She made a noise of annoyance. “Rigsby and Charles?”

“Rigsby was too invested in my answers,” Q finally turned around, leaning against the table of the range. He crossed his arms across his chest in a rather casual manner, looking at both Alvarez and Paul. “She was pulling Larson, Chen and Hernan's strings. She set them up with the earwigs and while not vocalizing her commands, her mannerisms and how she used the water bottle she had with her was the indication of how she wanted this to go.”

He would eventually need physical proof, but just by reading her body language, it was easy for him to deduce that she was one of the two moles. He breathed deeply and let it out slowly. “She set up Silva as the first code word, an attempt to deflect suspicion. I know your team has words set up in advance, so she tried to blame Dr. Chen on saying Safin's name.”

“I was given a heavily redacted report about Lyutsifer Safin-”

“And it will stay that way, Dr. Alvarez,” Q warned.

She quieted, but did not look so happy at not finding out the full reason behind why Safin seemed to have bothered him so much during the word association test. Sergeant Yung had a neutral expression on his face, but Q knew the man had an idea of what happened on the last mission he had gone out as a double-o versus the chaos that probably engulfed MI6 when it was discovered he went rogue as Quartermaster.

“Dr. Charles is her cohort or someone working alongside her. In concert, unsure, but he was alerted to my unusual behavior pattern from the marksmanship portion, giving him time to prepare and see for himself what was going on. He then alerted her what was going on, giving her time to set today's tests up.”

Something ugly passed through Dr. Alvarez's expression as she realized he was telling the truth. She looked a little ill, but stared at him. “What...what do you need me to do?”

“Nothing for now,” Q did not bother to reassure her. “We'll need proof, but in your capacity, can you mark me as fit for duty as third-in-command, it would be appreciated.”

Alvarez's brow wrinkled. “Your baseline-”

“Will be questioned by them,” Q replied. “That's all you need to do, doctor. You may defend your decision however you wish, but your part in this is over.”

Her brow furrowed further. “But I-”

Q pinned her with a look and let bits and pieces of 001 that had unnerved her come to the forefront. “Your part in this is over, doctor. Do you understand?”

She shrunk back involuntarily and swallowed. “Y-Yes, Quartermaster.”

He would not be responsible for letting her get hurt in whatever followed with Dr. Charles and Rigsby once the trap was sprung. Moles in IA needed to be handled carefully and Dr. Alvarez had done her part, albeit a very small one. He inclined his head at her and tucked 001 back into the recesses of his mind. “Thank you, Doctor.”

“Quartermaster,” Alvarez murmured as she realized she had been dismissed. She left, her heels clicking on the floor of the gun range before they disappeared down the corridor.

Q turned back and picked up the SIG Sauer. He sighted down the barrel and dropped his arms to his sides for a moment before extending the gun, grip first, out to Paul. “Keep an eye on her. She's good, but she's too curious. She'll try to force their hand eventually and I'm afraid even IA won't be able to stop anything from happening.”

“Sir,” the gun was taken from Q's hand before Paul's booted feet left the gun range.

Q sighed and stared down at his leftover guns on the table. He picked one up and fiddled with the safety catch. Alvarez would not do anything so overt to bring harm to her children, but neither would she let someone betray her own group – much like himself when it came to Q branch. He knew she would eventually provoke Rigsby and Charles, but they had to find out whom both reported to and why before that.

There was always more legwork to do.

The next evening, Q found himself in his office, looking over the personnel files of the four candidates that he asked Paul to keep an eye on. He had three computer monitors in front of him.

The one on the left had CAD models of gadgets he was working on as well as those sent by minions for his approval. The middle monitor displayed the digital personnel files and the right monitor showed local CCTV, satellite and security footage of a rather posh hotel in Tangiers. It was overlaid with the Smart Blood location of Bond along with the usual data of his vitals.

Q was dutifully ignoring the occasional spike in Bond's vitals as was his mission handler, Vanya and her team, whom were sitting in MTAC instead of the bullpen. A joint mission with the CIA or any of their other intelligence allies required MTAC instead of the regular setup in the bullpen.

Bond was currently shagging the secret lover of his target. There were hallmarks of 007 enjoying the sex, but Q had always turned a blind eye towards it. He had to in order to function as 007's handler. However, considering how Bond had just come back from spending nearly two weeks with Madeleine, he could not help but wonder how she felt about Bond's lack of fidelity.

He almost felt sorry for her. Almost.

And reminded himself that what Bond did with his relationships outside of whatever they had with each other was Bond's own business. An agent hampered by sentimentality was a dead agent in the long run. Or one forcibly retired to a desk job or otherwise as they realized they could not wholeheartedly serve Queen and Country without sacrificing their body and soul.

It was why Q took the 'desk job' after he had returned from the dead.

He did not begrudge M for asking him to do this mission; to dangle double-o status in front of his eyes. It was addicting in its own way. But, Q had been pondering if he could truly return to that life. The half-life he had as clandestine 001 and Quartermaster for the last seventeen or so years was a good life, but ever since he shot Thomas Ashleigh – no-

Ever since he stabbed Max Denbigh, ever since the attempted merger of MI5 and MI6, he could feel the itch of being 001 creeping over him. Like the smallest hits of a drug he thought he had long buried in the Black Sea. All of it culminating in his assassination of Safin and Q's subsequent suspension.

Maybe it was good that Tanner was his handler for this particular task. And maybe in a way, it was good for M to not only dangle that status in front of his eyes, but also show him that there were now guardrails in place to control his actions as a double-o.

Q sighed and flipped to the next series of notes for Anya Reagan. She was a political appointee, but one of the few that was actually competent. All four candidates were political appointees, but Ms. Reagan actually came with qualifications that would have made her a candidate to watch for in the eyes of MI6 recruiters. Q thought perhaps in a few years, with a little more 'seasoning' so to speak, she would have made a good candidate to approach for one of the stations, probably South America, but they were going to stick her in Station R – hardship duty in the Russian consulates – once she finished remedial training on marksmanship.

All four candidates were part of Intelligence branch.

Q had been offered a position in I branch even after he took the tests for Q branch. I branch members worked both at headquarters and out in the stations as diplomatic attaches or local contacts. M, back then, had offered it to him as a way for him to not become double-o anymore, but a path to eventually become a station chief.

Another layer to prevent Mycroft from meddling, but also allow him the freedom of what he had liked back then as 001. To disappear among the crowds and to work a region he was familiar with. The position had been open – Dryden the Station Chief of the Baltics and Caucauses recently dead – but Q went into technology instead.

As Q, he had access to I branch's information; owing to the need to figure out what weapons a double-o would need best to complete their mission. It also allowed him to analyze the intelligence on his own – supplementing the reports and the branch's analysis.

Most double-o's either came from I branch or special forces.

If the moles were going to target one of the four candidates, they would most likely pick Ms. Reagan. Her political connections were not as strong as someone like Joseph Smith who was a true and tried blue blood related to an MP in the House of Lords, or even Emily Ozzel who was the niece of the very same accountant in Finance that Dr. Messery was having an affair with. Liu Kee-Lim was another candidate, but he would be ripe for counter-espionage purposes. A honeytrap for Chinese officials. I branch definitely saw what he saw and so already requested his presence in Station H even though his skills at honeytrapping probably needed work – as did his skills in analysis.

Still, Liu's cover as a university student would work in his favor considering how fresh-faced and young he was. He was not even one year out from his deployment in ISTAR when his sponsor plucked him to work in MI6. Q wondered if Leftenant Liu would be mentored by 009 who was their expert in Station H and environs. She was also an excellent counter-espionage agent before she signed on with the double-o program.

He put a note into Liu's files for M's eyes only that denoted a request for counter-espionage and closed out of the file. M would know what to do. As for Ms. Reagan, Q checked her schedule for marksmanship training and added himself to the class list. Paul would be able to observe all four, but Q wanted to pay special attention to Ms. Reagan.

He flicked his gaze to the map as Bond's Smart Blood indicated movement. A quick check on the time showed it was nearly midnight in Tangiers. The secret lover was more than likely sleeping after a romp in the sheets. Bond was probably meeting up with Paloma to infiltrate the warlord's compound or whatever was the next phase in the mission.

He turned back and closed out of Ms. Reagan's files and opened up the one for Joseph Smith. Bond's mission was well-run and Q was confident in Vanya and her team's handling. “All right, Mister Blue Blood,” he muttered as he started to read the man's files. What have we got here?”

Chapter Text

Q had to admit, Dr. Alvarez had a stronger backbone than he initially gave her credit for. The security footage of her desk showed her weathering a shouting and enraged Dr. Charles with far more grace and steely looks than when he had shown her the bits and hints of 001. Even when Dr. Rigsby came in, hands on her hips and looking cross, but not animatedly furious later in the afternoon, Alvarez merely waved a dismissive hand at her and probably said a few stern words that made the other doctor stomp out in a huff.

The summons from M in the afternoon did not surprise him and Q reported up to his office. He ignored Moneypenny's suspicious look at him as he closed the door behind him. Tanner was already hard at work bringing up the files on Dr. Rigsby and Charles.

“Report, Quartermaster,” M started without preamble. Unlike the drink given to him a couple of nights ago when he had updated his superior in person, Q knew this was a little more formal with concrete conclusions than anything else.

“We should sweep Larson,” Q said and saw M frown.

“You want to spook Rigsby and Charles?”

“A little,” Q smiled grimly, “but then wait over the weekend or a couple of days and sweep the four remedial candidates.”

“Are you sure?”

“I'll be able to observe Ms. Reagan tomorrow in person, but sweeping Larson and then sweeping the four candidates would relax the two doctors.”

“How?”

Q pointed to both doctor's images, or rather towards their years of service. “Rigsby and Charles served long enough that they know moles are swept in and out of the secret service once in a while. Them agitating Dr. Alvarez for my approval should not raise any red flags. They are quite right to be concerned about my mental state.”

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Tanner blinking hard a few times, the older man's efforts to suppress laughter at the dark humor displayed a commendable feat. “It's not the hard evidence we need – not yet at least.”

M raised an eyebrow and sat back in his chair, eyeing Q thoughtfully. “You're rattling the cages.”

“And seeing what drops,” Q added. “If Rigsby and Charles are the moles and I'm mostly sure they are, then they would have unfettered access for a very long time, M.”

“What are they after?”

“That's the question,” Q pursed his lips for a moment before pointing at the two doctors' profiles on the screen. “Whomever they're giving information to, may or may not have disrupted our own intelligence apparatus or missions. The question becomes, when did they turn? If we pull them now, yes it'll stop all information from going to whomever their masters are, but we'll also lose the chance to shut it all down.”

“Remnants of Nine-Eyes?”

Q shrugged. “I'm not sure. I haven't had a chance to analyze that portion of their files. At least not that closely.”

M looked concerned as his eyes flicked between the two profiles. Q knew his superior was weighing the necessary evil of letting two known moles operate within MI6, to continue to give them access to highly sensitive information and even to the double-o's.

“Do you think it's a new player on the board?” M asked, not looking at Q with his question.

“Probably. Tanner showed me the highlights of the past year and we're tying off a lot of the Nine-Eyes and Thomas Ashleigh fallout. If anyone who was relevant to either party was active, they would have gone into deep hiding now. Deactivated for a few years at least.”

M crossed his right arm underneath his left and rubbed his chin. “Do you think it could be someone outlier like Safin.”

Q knew M was referring to how Safin had easily picked him out with one sniper shot of the whole Thomas Ashleigh affair. “We can check with Blofeld, even though SPECTRE leadership was killed in Cuba. There are always rats fleeing the ship. But I think whomever is directing Rigsby and Charles has weathered the fallout, so not necessarily a new player, but one that's been hidden for a while.”

M nodded absently, still rubbing his chin in thought. His fingers flicked towards the screen. “Explain.”

“Charles displayed an alert body language during my first test. Pupils narrowed, wariness about the way I was answering. He recognized some of the answers to be that of double-o style.”

“Double-o style?”

“We don't like the Psychs, sir.”

“No one likes the Psychs.”

“But double-o's detest them on another level, sir.” He glanced at Tanner who had stayed silent for most of the debriefing. “Tanner, can you bring up 007, 005 and 003's profiles? Especially 003 for his most recent outing?”

Tanner promptly pulled up the files on the three agents. He skipped right to the psychological profile section for all three complete with video evidence and played the word association portion of each agent. All of the answers, while using different words, definitely held the undercurrent of slight hostility and disdain.

“Most employees when undergoing word association tests don't really think much, but double-o's don't like having their judgment questioned or analyzed. We know exactly what we're doing at any given moment. To always be in control of the situation and surroundings.”

M hummed before tilting his head at Q. “I see your point.”

“Present company excluded.”

“Hilarious, Q,” M deadpanned.

“Dr. Charles,” Q continued as Tanner brought back the profiles of the two doctors to the forefront. “Recognized my answers instantly as deflection and unusual from my original benchmark. One could make the argument that all the Psychs recognize the answers, but the doctors are also all trained to accept whatever answer and make judgments later. Not judgments right then and there. Psychs like to analyze like the best of us and they don't do it in the second they are in the room with their patients, but rather do it in a manner similar to I branch. The doctor reacted in that instant and alerted Dr. Rigsby, giving her a day to prepare. She got another day after I inserted more aggressive answers.”

“That's a bit of a thin excuse.”

“Not if you look into Dr. Rigsby full history. She's the main instigator. Dr. Charles is the other mole, but he's not as aggressive as she is,” Q glanced at Tanner and held out his hand. “May I?”

“Sure,” Tanner handed his tablet over and Q pulled up Rigsby profile in full. “Graduated UCL worked for several years under NHS before moving to private sector where she worked her way through several high profile clients. Her known associates were recommended to her through UCL and by association was able to leverage into a government job with access to secrets and information. UCL connection – some associates who worked with other world leaders and friends. Pretty clean looking, but if you known what these associates have done in their respective governments than the evidence is there.”

As he had talked, he brought up the spider web of Rigsby's known associates, friends and those she considered her colleagues. From there, they spidered into associates and some of whom were targets MI6 had gone after for several years, including SPECTRE, Quantum, Nine-Eyes, Moriarty and Magnussen. The Magnussen one was the most, but it had been rather secondary considering Charles Augustus Magnussen was associated with a lot of people in the government – himself and Mycroft included.

He could see M's brow wrinkle as he leaned forward and stared at the new set of information and datapoints Q had spent the whole of last night putting together. Four distinct profiles of the four I branch targets were highlighted in the far corners, but as Q tapped another button to highlight Dr. Charles and how much his associates overlapped with hers, he saw M's lips turn downward further.

“We've got a leak, sir,” Q murmured quietly.

M exhaled loudly as he leaned heavily back against his chair. Q handed the tablet back to Tanner who took it with a frown on his face. There was a few minutes of silence as M digested the information carefully.

Finally, he spoke. “And you want to keep her and Charles in place?”

“Yes,” Q replied. “Just until we're better positioned to figure out what information she's passing along.”

“It could be everything,” M pointed out.

“It could be,” Q agreed.

“Our missions don't seem to be compromised...well, at least not much.”

“I think 005's mission was,” Q disagreed, “the one where she thought her lover had been a mole.”

“That was-”

“Moneypenny,” M cut Tanner off with a slight groan and narrowing of his eyes. “She told you, didn't she?”

“Please don't blame her for it, sir. Sharon Richards is exceedingly loyal and for her uncharacteristic lapse of judgment during her mission worried the former 008.”

M looked annoyed before nodding once. “Very well.”

Tanner spoke up. “You think Dr. Rigsby might have tipped off someone regarding Sharon's CIA contact?”

“Or discovered Sharon's pressure point. A tactic Magnussen exploited to great effect against members of our government,” Q pointed to the web of associates that connected the late media magnate to Dr. Rigsby. “Someone in the CIA then used that face changer technology to make it look like Sharon's CIA contact was a mole to cause maximum chaos. There was something there they either did not want us to discover, wanted to hide or wanted to pass along.”

“Her mission was the infiltration of a drug lord's operations. CIA and DEA requested our help since they could not make it more obvious that they were attempting to insert someone without having their agents die. The obvious answer was drugs, but you don't think so?”

“Drugs are always the best fronts for other operations. Sex and forced labor trafficking the second best front,” Q pointed out.

M ran a hand down his face as he realized the implications of what Q was suggesting. “We're talking years of missions, Q. Even I branch can't analyze all of it-” He had stopped and stared hard at him. “What.”

Q steeled himself, “Dr. Rigsby and Dr. Charles are the moles in MI6. I need time to look through their digital histories to figure out what information they've been sending out.”

“That's not all, is it?”

“My initial instinct is to say no. That is the worse way to send information, especially since they knew Q branch upgraded all IT infrastructure after the Silva Incident. I think they're handling the physical drops information with an associate, a courier if not an accomplice.”

“In person?”

“Sir, I think they are already using a double-o.”

Chapter Text

Q could tell the instant he had seen Ms. Anya Reagan in the marksmanship class she was destined to be recruited into the double-o program. It would probably be within five to eight years and would replace 005 if Sharon Richards decided to retire in the next year or two to be with her CIA beau.

He had glimpsed 005 in morning when she came in to greet Judith for a final fitting of a prototype pair of glasses designed for information. Google Glass and Meta's Ray-Ban technology development departments had nothing on what Q branch was cooking up.

005 had also recently admitted that she was getting old and her last vision checkup indicated she had developed a light need for reading glasses. Easily corrected with Lasik surgery, but Judith had asked if they could prototype glasses for her since she could still score rather high on her marksmanship without glasses.

Q watched with a casual gaze as Paul went through the first set of students' forms – adjusting, correcting and dispensing advice to the students on the range.

Ms. Reagan was not classically beautiful by Anglo-standards, but she had a natural charm and charisma about her. Two of the men in the class were already smitten and one shy young woman about her age was already working up the courage to ask Ms. Reagan out for coffee – the equivalent of drinks these days for the younger generation.

Q could tell even Paul was impressed with how fast Ms. Reagan was taking to the lessons on marksmanship – sharply changing her original form – which was pretty atrocious – but also asking about how she could improve her arm strength necessary to shoulder the kickback from some of the heavier handguns she was wielding.

She probably would like a Walther. It would be a perfect weapon for her.

He also knew that if he could read all of this from Ms. Reagan, then there was a good chance the Psychs could see parts of what he was seeing. She was definitely a high-value target for them. He would have to confer with Paul later in the evening to confirm his suspicions, but also get his thoughts on the other three candidates.

A buzz in his pocket made him pull out his mobile to see a text from Vanya. [Difficulty in breach. MTAC]

Q frowned. As far as he knew, there was nothing regarding a computer breach or security protocols save for getting into the compound for Bond's mission. In fact, he was surprised that Vanya and her team were still working Bond's mission – having seen two days ago that Bond had successfully bedded the secret lover to get into the compound. There must have been a complication – and he supposed they could not go a few of 007's missions without complications.

While Q was not exactly looking forward to the marksmanship training, he also did not want to repeat the class again. Leaving now, he would still have to repeat it. But, the job was not 9-to-5 and Q knew Vanya would not ask him to join mid-mission unless it was necessary.

He moved away from the waiting personnel and reached the door. Catching Paul's eye as the weapons master continued to instruct the personnel, Q made a motion with his mobile before heading out. He knew there were more than a few curious stares from those who participated, but since it was full of new personnel and very junior ones, most of the people did not know him as the Quartermaster on sight.

Q left, placing his earmuffs in the general use bin for cleaning before heading up to MTAC at a fast walk. One of the things he learned when he took the position of Q was that authority never ran unless it was truly the end of the world.

Authority always calmly walked.

He entered to see Vanya and the rest of her team with frowns on their faces, all typing furiously. Tanner was standing nearby, arms crossed across his chest. M was pacing on the far side of MTAC on the phone with someone, occasionally looking at the screens.

“Vanya?” Q called out.

“Oh good, you're here,” Vanya turned from where she was standing, her feed and those in MTAC visible. Aside from the usual video conferencing with their CIA counterparts, multiple cameras showed security footage of flashing strobe lights and two agents. One was Bond, the other was a young woman with a heart-shaped face and full mouth that was twisted in frustration. “Bond, he's here,” Vanya touched her ear as she handed Q an earpiece.

He put it on. “Sit rep, 007,” he called out.

“Oh come off it! We're getting a handle on it!” Instead of Bond's smooth baritone, a gruff voice with a slight twang of a mid-western American accent spoke up. Q blinked, glancing at Vanya who shook her head.

“You're not getting it and even made it worst. Our Quartermaster is an expert! Now, please let him work and talk to the agents!”

“Sod off, is what you guys like to say, right? So fucking sod off! I got this!” the voice called back.

“Director Schiffler, we've two agents trapped and the clock is ticking. I am personally telling you to shut up. Quartermaster, we've encountered an issue that we were told you have an expertise in regarding a particular type of hack that's preventing us from proceeding,” the voice was quietly authoritative, but also held the tinge of exasperation. Q recognized Felix Leiter's voice since the man was a good friend of Bond's.

“Got it,” Q replied as Vanya moved her hands on the touchscreen to bring over the window in question. “Oh...joy.”

“Now, now, Q, you did this a few days ago with 003,” Bond's admonishment was playful, but Q could tell the agent was tense.

There was the sound of sloshing in the background. Q flicked a look at the monitors to see that Bond and Paloma were in an area where there was water pooling at their feet and steadily rising.

“Contrary to popular belief that even if I invented all of the methods to solve polymorphic coding, it is not my favorite to pick apart,” Q sighed as he began to quickly type. “What's the situation 007? Agent Paloma?”

“Oh, you know, water flooding in, that sort of thing,” Bond's tone was still eerily casual, but Q could easily hear the unspoken I trust that you're coming up with a plan.

“James is magnetically cuffed to the terminal we've been working through to get him out. Targeted objective is dead. Hacking through this merda terminal is not my forte.” Paloma sounded rather put off, but like Bond, her tone was calm and professional. Q instantly understood why Bond took her under his wing in Cuba. Even though her youthful beauty shone clear as day in the static-filled security footage, she was very calm under pressure – exactly like Bond.

“Well, Bond's charm doesn't extend to electronics unfortunately,” Q replied dryly.

Both agents laughed over the line as Q continued to work through the hack. He pursed his lips, staring as the code morphed once more, eliminating his attempts to override it. Q cursed inwardly. This one clearly learned from what he and Arthur had done in 003's mission. Somehow, it had networked.

“Vanya, we'll need to look into how they're networked,” he stated clearly.

“The isolation-”

“Yes, which is why we'll need to look into it,” he interrupted her.

“Understood, Quartermaster,” Vanya and that of her team's eyes widened as they realized what he was saying.

“And now?” Bond queried, “Q dear, while it is quite nice that you've discovered a link, but now would be more imperative.”

“Vanya, you have their escape route?” Q asked.

“Yes sir, already given,” Vanya replied.

“All right,” Q gritted his teeth in frustration again as the code morphed once more. It was not the most efficient thing to do, but it would have to do to facilitate both agents' escape. “Bond, we're going with your watch as the main plan. However, we'll lose comms for a while. Paloma, there is a good chance the subsequent shock will temporarily disable 007. You'll have to pull him out, is that clear?”

“Shocking,” Paloma deadpanned.

Q grinned even though it was a tense situation. “Bond, twist three times in the outer ring, twice in the second. Place it between the maglock and terminal next to you. That will short-circuit both-”

“Wait, if the computer is down-”

“Brute force hacking isn't cutting it, Director Schiffler, no thanks to your second-rate attempts. Unless you have a better plan in the next few seconds, please do be quiet and let me work.” Q gave a pointed look up at the screen showing the CIA's side of the operation.

He adjusted his glasses and addressed Bond, “007, you will get electrocuted, but it will not be lethal. It will also override all the locks. The computer will reboot itself and that will be the window to escape. The polymorphic code will try to lock you back into the area. I'll keep that from happening, but I give at least twenty seconds at most. Do you have your escape route?” It bore repeating in case the agents needed confirmation.

“We do,” Bond replied tightly. “Looks like you're not getting this piece of equipment back.”

“I figured,” Q replied, glad that his friend was still able to find some humor, however small, in the situation.

“See you on the other side,” Bond replied and as much as Q wanted to watch the security footage, he couldn't as he concentrated on his own screen.

Instead, he heard the pop and fizzle of the comms cutting out as Bond unleashed the EMP burst from his wristwatch. It was followed by slight drawn breaths, including that of M who had stopped pacing and had approached the main table to watch proceedings. But Q was already typing quickly. The main window override window he had been working out of had been discarded the moment Bond had indicated he and Paloma were setting their plan into motion.

Instead, he now worked on a fresh window – a backdoor he had found into the systems through the main window and typed quickly.

“007's vitals are haywire,” one of the minions attached to the team called out.

“Tell me when he's stabilizing,” M muttered.

Q ignored the comments and counted the time down from the blood-red digits enlarged by Vanya in MTAC's main screens before he knew the polymorphic code would regain access into where Bond and Paloma were.

There was nothing on his screen except for his own typing to indicate that the polymorphic code was fighting back, but Q knew it would be a matter of time. He continued to type, concentrating on throwing every single metaphoric wall he could-

He slowed and changed tactics as red lines of code burst underneath his own, the system chewing through what he had put up in the interim like tearing through paper.

“Geez this thing is vicious...” Vanya muttered next to him and Q let loose an audible breath he had held.

“Station Chief Leiter, any news on your end?” Q called out.

“Agent Paloma's vitals are strong,” Leiter immediately replied. “No comms., but she and Bond might have gotten out. That was ten additional seconds you gave them than the estimated twenty.”

Vanya brought up Bond's Smart Blood monitors onto the main screens. They were still showing jagged lines, but it looked like it was starting to even out. Q smiled grimly.

“Andrew, we have cameras elsewhere?” Vanya asked.

“Yes ma'am, but they're not on the exit route. Attempting to get them now-”

“Drone feed instead, we just need to know if they made it outside,” Vanya said as Q slowed his typing. The red lines were coming few and far between his lines of counter-code and he knew that the waterline of wherever Bond and Paloma had been trapped had reached its apex – which meant the polymorphic code was done blocking his attempts to get into the system from that area.

“Bond's vitals are stabilizing, sir.” A minion called out and Q stopped typing and rested his hands on the sides of the touchscreen. Bond had made it and so did Paloma. He did not need to see the drone feed to know both agents were relatively safe.

Q reached up and shut his comm down before lifting the headset from his ear and handed it to Vanya. “Good job. I'll let you handle it from here.”

“You don't want to see it to the end?”

“007 has a tendency towards destruction, even when escaping. I'd rather live in the ignorance that maybe, just maybe Bond would salvage his Walther this time,” Q said in a slight joking manner. He sobered and smiled confidently at his senior minion. “Besides, I trust you.”

“All right,” Vanya smiled in return before nodding at him, “thank you for your help, sir.”

Q inclined his head once before nodding towards Tanner and M and left MTAC. He glanced at his watch. It was definitely too late to return to the remedial class which meant he had to sign up for another one again. Q sighed and decided to head back to his office to continue his analysis of the doctors, their objectives and most importantly, which double-o they might be using in their operations.

The remedial marksmanship class could wait. Probably forever.

Chapter Text

The small beeps of a door code being inputted in was barely audible against the classical piano music Q had playing. He continued to stare intently at his computer's screen. It was only when the second door opened, bringing in the familiar smell of leather, gunpowder and cold London winter, he spoke up.

“Welcome home, James,” he called out. He heard his cats chirp and trot over to greet the agent.

Bond's heavy footsteps paused for a moment before the agent said lightly. “I do believe that is the first time you've welcomed me...and to 'home', even.”

Q snorted in return, not moving from where he was carefully reading over lines of code. “I do believe this is the first time you've entered my home without breaking in before its owner returned.”

“Your cats own the flat,” Bond stated. Q heard the agent step in further, the door closing behind him. Sounds of his coat shed and being hung up echoed in the air. The chirrups from the cats turned into soft purrs for a brief moment.

“Ah, yes, my mistake. They are the owners,” Q said still staring at the screen. He frowned as he scrolled up before scrolling back down. He knew there was something off with the code he was reading, but couldn't quite pinpoint it. Something was missing and he had a feeling it was right in front of him. A soft grunt of pain issued near him and he pulled his gaze away from his screen to see Bond sit heavily in the love seat next to his own.

“Should I call Medical if you have a seizure in the next few minutes?” Q sighed. It was clear Bond had practically escaped from Medical judging by the pained expression flitting across the agent's face. The stark white color of the bandages indicated Bond had escaped immediately after he had a change in his dressings.

“Not to worry,” Bond attempted to keep his tone light as he pulled out a bottle of pills and shakily set them on the small table next to the lamp. “These should keep.”

Q knew he should probably get water for Bond, but at the same time, he decided if Bond was being stubborn by both escaping Medical when he clearly was not healthy enough; but also idiotic enough to make the trip to his flat and have the wherewithal to have fine motorskills to punch in his door code, then Bond was not going to seize in the next few minutes.

“When did you land?”

“Four hours ago.”

Q sighed. “The voltage that went into you should lessen in the next sixteen hours. Did Agent Paloma accompany you?”

“Only until we landed,” Bond relaxed a little more as his muscles stopped their painful contractions. “She's already bound for the States.”

“Pity. Would have liked to have met her,” Q got up from his chair then and moved to the kitchen to grab Bond a glass of water. He returned and set it next to the table where his bottle of pills were. However, he remained standing next to Bond in case the agent needed help with opening the bottle of pills.

“She said, I quote 'One day I'd like to meet your Quartermaster and kiss him senseless for putting Director Schiffler in his place.'”

Q raised an eyebrow at Bond who merely smirked in return as he shakily uncapped the bottle and swallowed a single pill with a sip of water. The small tremors in the agent's hand told him he was still suffering from the effects of a massive electrical shock to his body.

“She may have to get in line. I got a message from Leiter saying about the same thing. No kissing though. It was followed by a reprimand from M for potentially disrupting agency relations. Tanner wanted to kiss me for that. So, there's a lot of mixed messages involved.”

Bond's smirk turned into a real smile as he laughed softly into his hand. Q took the opportunity presented and leaned down, telegraphing his intent and Bond lowered his hand, tilting his chin up. Q kissed the agent lightly on his lips, still feeling the small tremors of muscles that involuntarily contract all over the agent's face. It had to hurt, even with the painkillers Bond had absconded from Medical.

Q gently caressed Bond's cheek. “I'm glad you're back.”

“That was a brilliant piece of work you did, Quinn. Thank you,” Bond breathed out, his breath hitching once.

Q kissed him again, this time a little more firmly and stepped back. He smiled softly and sat back down in his own seat. Gesturing towards his screen he said, “It's also something I'm looking into.”

The agent made a noise of interest as he relaxed into the love seat. Q watched Bond close his eyes for a second, the content expression he had on his face turning into a brief grimace before relaxing once more.

One would have read the situation and given an apology, but Q knew that Bond knew it had been the only way to get both of them out from the situation. There had been no time. The only saving grace was that the water levels had not gone high enough to increase the voltage from the wristwatch. Otherwise, neither agent would have survived such a shock to their systems.

So Q did not apologize and Bond did not expect one.

“The polymorphic code?”

“Something about it was different. Networked even though there is no known outside interference. It learned from Arthur and mine's attempts with 003's mission and was far more...aggressive when I encountered it with your mission. Vanya and Arthur are picking it apart at the office, but I'm just looking through my lines, specifically the part where I was able to backdoor in and hold it out for those seconds.”

Bond hummed before shifting again, sinking a little deeper into the loveseat. “I'm listening.”

“Not really,” Q shook his head as he saw the agent squint at him. “You need sleep. Especially after that horse pill of a painkiller you took. Go sleep. I'll keep an eye on you and wake you up if necessary.”

Bond grunted, but Q could tell the agent was already nodding off fast. There was something to be said for the role reversal Q found himself in considering that just a little over a year ago, it was he who sought out Bond's company to have the agent keep an eye on him while he slept due to also being ill and on medication. He would have to bring a blanket out later once the agent had settled enough.

And Q found that he liked it. That it made him content and perhaps happy.

M authorized the sweep of Dr. Larson and the four candidates one week after Bond returned to London. Tanner had only given Q a fifteen minute warning before the sweep was conducted, making it truly a random event. The resulting rumors that spread like wildfire in MI6 either said 007 – who had been in an evaluation with Dr. Larson for his post-mission checkups – was there to keep Dr. Larson from running; or the intel 003 had brought back from his mission was proof of the doctor's traitorous leanings.

Whatever it was, Q knew the ripple effects were going to be far and wide.

He watched Arthur field questions from his colleagues about possibly intel that 003 and himself had found. Even when Bond had wandered into Q branch to belatedly deposit his Walther with Judith, there were minions scurrying about, giving him wide-eyed looks. Q was in his office, ostensibly studying the recordings of the polymorphic code from Bond's mission when he saw Judith gesture for Bond towards his office. Since she outfitted Bond, she had handled the return of equipment.

He heard the knock a few seconds later.

“Enter,” he called out, setting his screen to black as Bond came in and closed the door behind him.

“It's quite a thing to see someone who has evaluated you and knows your secrets arrested on charges of treason,” Bond murmured, keeping his tone light.

He was clearly attempting to make a veiled conversation, but Q was having none of it. He instead, held up a hand to the agent and pressed the button to the electronic blackout function he had in his office. Bond's mobile beeped in his pocket and the half-smile on the agent's face dropped and became more serious as he realized what had happened.

“Q.”

“Dr. Larson was a mole,” Q stated, lowering his hand, “MI5 contacted M with information that there was a mole or moles within IA itself feeding information. Of what we do not know, but with Dr. Larson now in custody, we can start that process.”

Bond's gaze narrowed slightly. “M needed an in.”

Q nodded. “I was his 'in'. Removed from processes for one year, enough to slip under the radar. M needed my skillset. I obliged his request.”

The older man stood loosely in front of Q's desk, but stared down at him with a look that Q recognized as a worried concern. “Did you find your answer?” Do you like this?

“I don't know. Maybe, but it was too short for me to really figure it out.”

Bond nodded silently and Q flicked the device off. Bond's mobile beeped again and he fished it out of his pocket to turn off a few things that automatically turned on when forced into powering off. Another beep pinged and the agent raised an eyebrow. “I'm being summoned to M's office.”

“Then off with you, 007,” Q smiled crookedly at Bond who returned it with equal measure and left his office.

Q did not know what M was going to tell Bond, but he also knew the man took his word seriously.

Dr. Larson was a mole, but not the courier they were looking for. If they had to start with a double-o to question, then as much as Q disliked it, it was perhaps for the best that James Bond be the first.

After all – he was the only person Q would trust his life to.

~END~