#005.vi

[teamdoubleoh]

Two kinds of dangerous.

[teamdoubleoh]

Rings - 00Q secret marriage AU

pt. 1/2        pt. 2/2

Q and Bond flirt and MI6 ships it. There is a betting pool.

wordcount: 2791

Many thanks to Kira for helping me figure out the ending.

007 and the Quartermaster meet.

Really, the minions should have seen it coming. So should have R and Eve Moneypenny and M and the rest of the double 0s.

Introducing 007 to the Quartermaster had been the simultaneously best and worst decision MI6 had made since the founding of the double-0 program but the meeting of the youngest Quartermaster and the oldest serving Double-0 in the history of MI6 had not only been inevitable; at that point no one had really had any idea of what they were getting into.

Their fist meeting had been witnessed only by R, who was in Q’s ear at the time, and a few minions who kept tabs on the Quartermaster via CCTV, both of which was a plain matter of security.

It had been a smooth affair. Q had been brought to the National Gallery in a standard issue vehicle and entered the building with only a brief glance at the cameras above. He had strolled around for a bit, perfectly anonymous to everyone around him.

Then he had reached the meeting point and 007 had been waiting, ready to receive his papers and equipment.

»…Always makes me feel a bit melancholy. Grand old warship being ominously hauled away to scrap… Inevitability of time, don’t you think? What do you see?«

The cameras hadn’t been able to capture the slyness of the smirk in its entirety, and neither would they catch the cynicism in 007’s voice when he answered,

»A bloody big ship. Excuse me.«

Then Bond had turned away, and it had seemed as though he really was about to leave, had it not been for the very slightest of smiles on his face.

»I’m your new Quartermaster.« Q said, still facing the painting of ›A bloody big ship‹

Bond sat back down.

»You must be joking.«

»Why? Because I’m not wearing a lab coat?«

»Because you still have spots.«

»My complexion is hardly relevant.«

»Your competence is.«

»Age is no guarantee of efficiency.«

»And youth is no guarantee of innovation.«

The whole exchange had been laced with a hint of amusement that went over the heads of the Minions, whose grainy CCTV feeds and earpieces could only pick up so much.

They didn’t catch the glistening of a pair of rings on the Mens ring fingers either.

Later all present observers would agreed that, in retrospect, this was the point from which it had gone downhill. Though ›downhill‹ was the wrong expression entirely, because the Quartermaster and 007 had caught on like a house on fire.

And so it had begun.

When Bond wasn’t on mission he hung around Q-branch and tailed Q. Sometimes he would flirt in his not-so-subtle ways or bring Q fresh cups of earl grey.

Q flirted back be either complaining endlessly about Bond’s tea or not complaining at all, depending on how busy he was.

After a week of this Q branch had opened a betting pool on when and how they’d go on a date.

When Eve first found out she was close to furious - about not being told that is - and regularly joined the Minions on breaks to discuss the latest gossip.

Once Bond had brought Q Indian takeaway after returning from a mission. The wagers rose immediately.

Then Spectre happened. Bond had gone with Madeline and the entirety of Q-Branch and all of the double-0s were ready to murder Bond and incredibly careful around Q.

Q didn’t seem to care that Bond had run off but everyone at MI6 who was at least slightly invested in the matter was secretly convinced he was just putting on a brave face.

A few weeks after Bonds disappearance Eve and R - who was a mother hen to everyone in Q-Branch - told Q that he should just forget Bond; in response Q only looked at them like they’d just told him to get a job at an Internet café and asked what they meant by that.

Eve and R retold the exchange during break and again there was a major shift in the bettings. Not that anyone was having any doubts about the Quartermaster and 007 ending up together, but the predicted time for a first date moved back considerably.

Of course Bond came back eventually, as he always did.

He even brought with him all of his equipment, most of which was intact, including the Aston Martin which sported a new set of scratches but was otherwise fully functioning. When Bond entered Q-Branch - for the first time in six months after dropping of the radar as well as everyone’s favours - Q looked up from his Laptop, smirked at Bond when he laid out the equipment carefully on his desk and said with an eerie lightness in his voice: »Thank god you didn’t ruin the car. I’d hate to rebuild it from scratch again.«

Bond returned the smile and answered in his usual flirtatious tone »Don’t get used to it. I don’t think I’ll do a mission that quiet or extensive ever again.«

Q put his head to one side, and squinted at Bond and mused, »I suppose not, no. Yet another broken record, hm 007?«

Bond considered this for a moment, but refrained from answering and instead took Q’s empty scrabble mug and ventured to the Q-Branch break room to make a new cuppa.

The minions, who had collectively held their breath since 007 had set foot in Q-Branch, exhaled slowly and carefully but didn’t refrain from retelling the situation in vivid, if not dramatic detail to Eve and the agents during lunch.  Eve later told M while delivering files.

Not a full 24 hours after Bond’s return everyone in on the situation had changed their bettings again.

By day three of 007’s - ‘unexpected’ wasn’t the right word, considering the bets had still run high during his time of absence - return, Bond had taken it onto himself to make sure the Quartermaster drank and ate properly and even organised a large couch from one of the waiting rooms to put in Q’s office. He denied that the sudden appearance of a bed substitute had anything to do with him, claiming he wouldn’t care how or where Q spent the night.

His lie would have been more believable had Bond not spent the better part of the last two days trying to convince the Quartermaster to sleep more.

Q only rolled his eyes so far back it looked painful and turned to work on a new project.

Obviously the information on Bond’s exact phrasing was passed around MI6 carefully and was thoroughly discussed during coffee break. By the end of the week everyone at MI6 was convinced Bond had stopped seeing other people altogether in an effort to get the Quartermaster to have dinner with him.

Then Bond was cleared for the field.

While he regularly lost his MI6 issued watches and guns, he always returned whatever communication device he was entrusted with. Q seemed to appreciate this, and always smiled brightly at the agent when he carefully placed the most recent earpiece or radio on Q’s desk. While the betting pool was often reset by a few days or even weeks it was only once after Bonds disappearance, that it was collectively delayed by more than five months.

Five weeks after Bond’s return to MI6, R checked into the google docs spreadsheet that the Minions had created to keep tract of the wagers, only to find that almost everyone had changed their wagers to an average of plus seven months until first date.

Confused she checked the minion group chat and, upon realising that something had happened during her off-shift, got Minion #22, Lake, to summarise why exactly there had been such a massive delay in the predicted dates.

Apparently Bond had come down to Q-Branch after spending his morning at the gym, which was not unusual. He had sported black slacks and a white shirt and the top three buttons had been undone. 

That was unusual. R didn’t think she’d seen 007 without tie ever. 

And Bond had been wearing a necklace, #22 continued, but not any necklace. There’d been a ring on it. It had been a simple gold band, fitted to someone with rather thin fingers in comparison to 007 himself.

The Minions had come to the obvious conclusion; Bond had been married and, whatever had happened to the original wearer of the ring, Bond wasn’t over it.

R contacted Eve Moneypenny.

To the dismay of all of MI6, while Bond kept flirting with Q and regularly fed him take-away, Q didn’t respond to his efforts any different from before. He ate and drank what Bond handed him, and even sometimes took a nap. Not once Q answered Bond’s offers to take him out for dinner with anything but an exasperated sigh.

R didn't get to see the fabled ring until two months later.

Bond was on a mission in Lebanon, trying to seduce a woman who knew something. Getting into the party had been ridiculously easy and within ten minutes of his arrival at the luxurious villa Bond was surrounded by pleasant music, thick red carpets and about two hundred strategically placed candles, that basked the crowd in golden light. 

Bond was currently talking to a grey haired man sporting a white suit, whose tongue had been loosened by the free champagne significantly since the beginning of the event.

When the target entered the room every one present turned to towards her, including Bond. The grey haired man seemed to read his expression all to easily - though admittedly the years as spy had made Bond a formidable actor.

The man took another champagne flute from one of the passing waiters - his fifth - and shook his head at Bond, when he turned back to him. "Oh that is an expression I have seen before." He slurred. 

Bond cocked one eyebrow. 

"That look on your face, Mr. Sterling. Forget it. She doesn't go for men like us."

"Men like us?" Bond asked with an easy smile.

The target was, according to her files, eight years older than him, and the grey haired man was older than her by a few years, so age couldn’t be the deciding factor, and neither could money, as Bond was ‘Mr. Sterling’ tonight. 

The grey-haired man sighed with all the theatrical expertise of a sixth grader. "She likes to go for married men -- Only for married men, ever since her husband died - the third one I mean." He hiccuped.

Q-branch was dead silent.

So was Bond, for a split second.

Then he turned away from his conversational partner and took a step into the crowd.

R, who was on CCTV duty for the night, could see him open his mouth to speak-

"Not a word James." Q unceremoniously cut off what ever Bond might have said. The place had excellent cameras, R found, as she watched Bond smile innocently.

"I don't know whatever you could mean, dear Quartermaster."

Q groaned and shoved up his glasses over his forehead to pinch the bridge of his nose. "Oh, grow up 007 -- Just do it."  

Bond reached in the inner pocket of his suit and pulled out a chain with a ring on it.

Judging by the reaction of the minions - a collective intact of breath that was so blatantly obvious that even Q briefly looked up from his laptop in confusion - this was the necklace Bond had been wearing a few months back.

Bond, unaware of the consequences of his actions to the betting pool, opened the chains fastener and pulled the ring off. Then he carefully placed the chain back in his pocket and slipped the ring on his left ring finger where it fit surprisingly well. He straightened his suit jacket and made his way across the room to their target.

The rest of the mission passed in a haze.

Bond seduced the woman, who was convinced that he was a married man and thus more or less openly spilled some secrets MI6 had been after for weeks -- as well as some no one had had any idea about, but they weren’t going to complain about that, were they.

The intel was transmitted via Q-branch to the recipient, 004 - R's fiancé, currently on mission to snuff out a child trafficking ring in the north of the united  States - and Bond, for once perfectly following his orders to return immediately, managed to grab the first plane to England the following morning.

What MI6 personnel found much more interesting than the gathered intel was the fact that not only was Bond apparently over his marriage - or at least had no problem using it to his advantage - but Q had apparently been well aware the spies former engagement.

Within three hours the betting pool was fully reset once again.

Bonds flight -Beirut to London, almost 2000 kilometres -  took four hours which he spent sleeping. When he arrived at Heathrow, still quite tired, he found that Q had already organised a non descriptive silver car to take him back to MI6. Yet, by the time Bond finally reached the steel doors of Q branch it was 10 am and the day shift had taken over again. The only thing he wanted now was a warm bed with a Quartermaster in it, and since Q had worked even longer than he had he woudn’t object to James taking him home. If you asked James he slept way too little anyways.

Bond put his Hand on the scanner to his left and waited till it had picked up his handprint - something Q branch apparently had an obsession with - and stepped through the opening doors.

R sighed. Deeply. She was supposed to be at home by now, enjoying the off time or sleeping, yet here she was, sitting at her desk, working on a project. And it was all Bond's fault.

Well technically.

She just wanted to be present for 007 return - usually the best time to pick up fresh gossip about the Agents budding relationship with the quartermaster. Unfortunately she now could barely keep her eyes open. Time for another coffee then. She stood, cup in hand, when the for opened and Bond strode in. Fucking finally.

As usual Bond went straight for the Quartermasters desk at the back centre of the room where Q was sitting, typing idly away on his sticker covered laptop.  

As usual Q looked up at the sound of Bonds steps on the cold concrete floor, a smile forming on his lips. Since Bond hadn’t been equipped with anything more than a com system for the mission, only carefully placed the small device on Q’s desk.

“You know 007, I might just start equipping you with only a com. At least if I don’t give you any tech, you won’t be able to loose it, hm?”

“Aw Q, you wouldn’t do that to me.” 

Q didn’t answer. 

“Would you?”

Q wasn’t listening. Even from R’s position pretty much all the way across the room it was clear that he was staring at Bonds hand. The one with the Ring on it. 

Now even James noticed that something was amiss. 

Q stood from his chair and extended his hand towards 007. “James, Hand over the Ring.” There was something in his voice that was a perfect mix of annoyance and fondness - which confused R a great deal. 

Bond liftend his hand and pulled the ring off. It must have been a little too tight because he struggled quite a bit before dropping it in Q’s outstretched hand. 

R took a step towards Q’s desk, to have a closer look. By now the attention of the entire room was in Q and 007.

Q rummaged with his free left hand through the pocket of his cardigan and pulled out a gold ring that seemed - to everyones surprise - to be the exact same Bond had just handed him, safe for the size. Bond’s ring was narrower, while Q’s looked like it would fit comfortably on the Quartermaster thumb. 

Q took the larger ring and slipped it onto Bond’s outstretched finger, where it fir perfectly. Bond smiled, not fazed in the least. 

“I was wondering why it was so tight.” 

Q scoffed. “Oh yes, it’s almost as though there was a reason they get fitted, hm?” 

Bond’s smile only widened as he picked up the smaller ring to slip it onto Q’s ring finger, apparently completely unaware of the minions shocked expressions around them. 

“Join me for dinner then, Quartermaster?”

R chocked on air, but Q only rolled his eyes and shut down his laptop, carefully placing it in his messenger bag. 

“James, for the love of god. It’s 10:12 am and I just completed a 38 hour shift.“

Bond’s smirk only grew as he offered his left arm for Q to take. “Bed it is then.”

[teamdoubleoh]

Tech support Q-branch

Based on a post by @i-never-leave-my-house

wordcount: 709

It was a well known fact that Q-branch had a phone number. 

Stranded Agents or even Agents on longterm missions were given the number to request intel or updates. Access to vital information was granted once the agents stated their designation and mission code. 

It was, generally speaking, a useful feature, as it made handlers on longterm missions obsolete. There simply had to be someone on phone operating duty at all times.

It was a little known fact that Q-branch hated having a phone number. Not as much as having to monitor longterm missions 24/7, but still. The problem with the globally accessible number was a simple one. Having a regularly registered phone number meant that regular people called.

"Hiiii- Honey I'm so sorry, I can't make it home early tonight there's --"

"Tech support media international, operator six. How may I help you today?"

"Oh -- Oh I'm so sorry, wrong number."

"Really, I would never have guessed, have a nice day."

"Tech support media international, operator six. How may I help you today?"

"...Wait, are you a woman?"

"I'm afraid so, sir."

"How are you supposed to help me with my problem? Get me someone else on the line!”

”If you could wait a mo, there will be someone else here shortly ... Hello, my name is Rose, my coworker tells me you requested another operator?"

"Yes! But not another woman, I need someone to help me with my phone."

"So you, a man, need help with his phone, which are frankly ridiculously easy to operate these days, and you don't want to speak to a woman because...?"

"Every one knows women know jack shit about science, men are just better at that sort of stuff, now, get me a professional on the line!"

"Hello, my second in command has just informed me that there is a problem?"

"Yes my smartphone--"

"--wait a mo, you don't know how to operate a smartphone but you refuse help from a woman who has a degree in technical engineering?"

"...yeah, so what?"

"Have a terrible day sir!"

“Tech support media international, operator six. How may I help you today?”

“Oh - Uhm -- would you like to sign a petition?”

“...Depends. Whats the petition for?”

“More translucency in government organisations?”

“Sounds ... interesting. What kind of government organisations?”

“Well, stuff like the GCHQ, DI, MI5, MI6 you know?”

“Yeah, nooo. I don’t thinks so.”

"Tech support media international, operator six. How may I help you today?"

"...HELLO?"

"Tech support media International operator six. Do you require any assistance?"

"...YES."

"There is no need to speak so loudly ma'am, I can hear you just fine."

"Ah... well, my grandson, teddy, he said I should call you --about the, the computer?”

"Ma'am, what is the problem with your computer?"

"It's stuck!”

"Have you tried turning It on and off again?"

"Tech support media international, operator six, how may I help you?"

"My laptop is frozen and--"

"Have you tried turning it on and off again?”

"No, but--"

--*Beep*--

"Tech support media international, operator six. Have you tried turning It on and off again?"

"No i --"

"Well, then do that."

"No this is 004."

"Sorry 004, what do you need?”

"You sound like you had an interesting morning."

"You have no idea. Do you want to talk to R? She's right there."

"Usually I wouldn't say no to that, except I'm in a bit of situation over here."

"Why didn't you lead with that?"

"Hello tech support media international, operator six, how may I help you today?"

"Hello? My grandson told me this was his work number?"

"What is your grandsons name?"

"Alexander, Alexander Williams."

"Yes he ... works... here should I put you through?"

"Oh, that would be lovely! I haven't heard from him in months!"

“Alright ma’am, if you could wait a mo...”

"002. Did you seriously give our phone number to your grandmother so she could call you on missions?"

"Yes? how else am I supposed to be in contact when I'm away for five months?"

"You're not supposed to be--- nevermind. She wants to talk to you, I'll put you through."

"Aw thanks! Tell Q I'll bring tea as an apology!"

"You could just return your equipment..."

"No, I'll bring tea. 002 signing off."

[teamdoubleoh]

Q and 007 {ft. Romulus and Ramses}

I wanted to draw something Ghibli-ish but whelp

[teamdoubleoh]

“Q and Bond are secretly together” Fic rec list

Because I just watched Spectre again and oh boi. 

 They Didn’t Know What to Expect by LivetoDream333 (orphan_account)

Wordcount: 1.3k

Rating: General Audiences

Category: M/M

Ship: Q/James Bond

Plot: James died. Again. Need I say more?

or: How Q waits for six months and a minion is a dick but its fine. Also James comes back. 

 Don't Leave Me Here (Alone) by RainingInExile

Wordcount: 0.8k

Category: M/M

Ship: Q/James Bond

Plot: Bond is (temporarily) dead and to everyones surprise there is a next of kin documented in his file. 

Congratulations by BetsyByron

Wordcount: 0.2k

Rating: General Audiences

Category: M/M

Ship: Q/James Bond

Plot: Mycroft congratulates his youngest brother on his marriage and his continued existence

Balance a series by sunaddicted

Wordcount: 0.5k

Rating: General Audiences

Category: M/M

Ship: Q/James Bond

Plot: Bond and Q are married but no one knows because Eve is a good friend and has a bet to win. 

Abuse Seminar by LivetoDream333 (orphan_account)

Wordcount: 1.7k

Rating: Teen

Ship: Q/ James Bond

Plot: MI6 is hosting a seminar on abusive relationships. Q is annoyed. It’s hilarious. 

[teamdoubleoh]

Q’s nephew

(Vaguely) based on this post by @needacuppa and @midrashic ‘s dialogue prompt. (technically) featuring @caffeinatedflummadiddlebutmerlin ‘s non-binary Merlin bc I like to see myself represented.

wordcount: 2312

Beware: Q is Holmes and has a fourth sibling, like in all my other fics bc I love consistency and Merlin.

TL:TR James thinks Q is married, Q thinks sleep is overrated and Mordred is very not-amused that James thinks Q is straight.

Q woke up in at 03:08 am because there was someone in his flat.

Someone other than himself, Mordred, Turing and Hawking. Q silently prayed that whoever it was could be killed quietly, so the cats wouldn’t wake.

He kept his eyes closed and listened. He could tell the someone wasn't moving, even though the door to the living room was shut. He turned his head to the bedside table, where his phone and glasses were sitting. He reached out, carefully avoiding to make any noise, put on his glasses, unlocked the phone and and logged into his security feed.

Apparently the intruder had had the decency to enter the flat trough the front door, which was a feat in itself.

Q selected the camera the monitored the door and went through the timeline. The feed was monotonous until two minutes ago, when a figure had walked up to the camera and opened the door with a key. Before entering the figure looked around, exposing their face to Q’s camera.

It was Bond. Who else would manage to steal acquire a key to his flat and show up in the middle of the night.

Q sighed and slipped out from under his comforter. He then reached under the bedside table where one of his personal guns was located and slipped it into the waistband of his pyjamas. He knew the double ohs well enough to know that taking a gun would be the best course of action.

Now armed, he opened the bedroom door. "Bond. What are you doing in my living room."

Bond was sitting on the couch, illuminated by the light of a half-moon that shone through the window. "Q! how nice to see you, what a coincidence."

"You've gotten yourself injured and the best thing you can think of is to break into my flat. Hospitals exist, you know that right?"

"Oh Q, I missed you. How did you know I was injured?"

"Posture." Q sighed.

"Ok, thats fair. You don't happen to have a bandaid or twenty lying around, do you?"  

Q sighed deeply and went to retrieve the MI6 issued medi-kit from under the bathroom sink. "Over here Bond. I don't want any stains on my couch."  

Bond stood and even in the relative darkness of the room Q could tell that it was a painful endeavour. Not a grazing shot then. Q searched the medi-kit for needle and thread. Bond sat down on the tiled floor, already pulling up his shirt over his left hip, where the bullet had dug into the flesh but had luckily been stopped by the hip bone.

Apparently the shot had been long distance, which would make the surgery relatively easy. Bond groaned when Q poured disinfectant over the wound.

"Honestly, Q. There is an intruder in your flat and you’re not even armed. What do they even teach you in basic training anymore."

Instead of answering Q pressed down a cotton swab on the bullethole and pulled out his P99 from his waistband.

"...Touché"

"Now if you'd be so kind and refrain from talking. You’re not making this any easier for either of us and I swear to god, if your noise wakes the cats or Mordred I'll-"

"Too late for that." Came a sleepy voice from the living room.

Bond was already half on his feet, trying to shield Q with his body, before Q could stop him.

"Hi. I'm Mordred." The boy, he could’t be older than 17, waved sluggish.

Bond looked hesitant but slowly sat back down again.

Q pinched the bridge of his nose with his unbloodied hand.

Bond smirked. "Didn't know you were the 'married with kids' kind of person."

"You do realise I can kill you, 007."

Bond looked stunned at the mention of his designation. he looked from Q to the kid and back to the quartermaster. "Uh, Q..."

"What."Q snapped.  

If the Quartermaster wanted to throw around his top secret designation so be it. Q knew what he was doing.

"...Nevermind."

"I don't think he wants me here. "the kid murmured turning away, obviously still half asleep. "I'll go back to bed."

Q sighed. "Now that’s is some good thinking. Bond, hold still." he picked the pair of tweezers. "This might hurt a tad."

Somehow James ended up in Q’s bed. With a very disgruntled Quartermaster in it. 007, being himself, couldn't resist commenting. "If you wanted to get me into bed, you should have just asked, Q. I mean I don't usually go for married people when off mission, but I'll make an exception for you."

"Shut up or I'll put you on the couch."

"Pray tell, if I’m annoying you so bad, why am I not already there? Should I inform the other agents that you're secretly concerned about our well being or do just like me?"

"That couch was my mothers, and she is ready to maim anyone who leaves stains on it."

"...Stains, huh? Got it. Thats the no-fun zone."

"You should know that I am also ready to maim anyone who keeps me from sleeping."

"Good night, Q"

Bond woke at 6:38 am precisely.

Someone was working in the kitchen, and since the bed was empty, save himself, it was probably Q. Or his son, apparently. Come to think of it, if Q was married and had a son, where was his wife?

The smell of toast and freshly brewed earl grey wavered into the bedroom and James decided that those were questions for another time.

The kitchen was, to Bonds surprise, well stocked and maintained.

He wouldn't have pegged Q for the cooking type but he hadn't pegged Q for the married-with-kids type either so that was that.

Q was just pouring a mug of tea when James limped in. The boy - Mordred, what a peculiar name - was sitting on a stool, nursing his own tea.

In the light of day his dark brown hair seemed to be a similar shade as Q's, while his pale blue eyes were a little unnerving, but that could be a side effect of him being a teenager. Everyone knew teenagers were dangerous creatures as they didn't need sleep and had fatal levels of cynicism, sarcasm and caffeine running through their veins.

Q handed James a mug of steaming tea, which tore him out of his staring.

"You should sit down." Q advised, pointing towards a kitchen table with three mismatched chairs. "And you should go to medical. I'm head of Q branch not a doctor." He hesitated for a second. "Well I am a doctor, just not of medicine. My point is: get that checked out, or I'll kill you."

"Aw don’t worry, I will, or it might kill me first."

"As if you wouldn't just come back from the dead to just to annoy me, hm 007?" Q smiled sweetly, something dangerous lacing his tone.

"I have before, I could do it again. Given a good enough reason." Bond eyed Q provocatively up and down.

Q just sighed and turned to take the slices of toast out of the toaster, placing them on a plate. "I assume you will join me on my way to work, seeing as your flat is on the way and you need to stop there for new clothes?"

Bond looked down at himself. He was wearing his boxer briefs and a tee shirt that definitely wasn't his. Since there was as science pun on it, he was pretty sure it was Q's.

“Yeah.... that might be a good idea.” James mused and went to find his slacks.

***

“So, what kind of a name is ‘Mordred’ anyway?” Bond asked the boy some months later.

He had broken in again and again and at some point Q had given in and made him his own key, which only made Bond come by more often.

Now he was sitting on the no-stains-allowed couch, enjoying a cup of perfectly brewed Rooibos tea he had gifted Q a few weeks prior. Mordred, currently located in the kitchen, was busy making dinner for himself and Q, who was still at Q-branch handling 009′s Washington mission.

Mordred, who rarely ever talked, much less with Bond, kept dicing onions and garlic. After half a minute of silence, just when James thought he might never get an answer, the boy opened his mouth. “It’s from the Arthurian legends. According to the popular legends Mordred was Arthur’s son.”

“You say ‘popular’ like you know better...”

“Well-” Mordred smiled ever so slightly. “-I know Arthur is my uncle.”

James grinned. “Is your mother a historian by any chance?”

Mordred shook his head and turned his attention back to the stove. “My mother is a PA. But her name is Morgause and her half sister is called Morgana - you know, like, from the Legends? -, so she thought it would be funny.”

James smiled and emptied his cup. Now that was something he could tease Q about.

Q chose that exact moment to stumble in through the door. He looked like he was dead on his feet. His tie was askew and his hair ruffled. He closed the door behind him, hung his parka on the mantle piece and placed his messenger bag on a nearby drawer, but his movements were that of someone who was kept awake only be caffeine and spite.

By the time he reached the living room his eyes where almost completely shut. He dropped down on the couch where James was still sitting, but Bond just steadied him as Q slumped against him.

“James?”

“Hello dear Quartermaster. You do know that sleep is essential for your personal health, right?”

Q only groaned and closed his eyes.

***

Four hours later Q woke to the smell of pasta and the clinking of cutlery being placed on a table. He sat up and opened his eyes, but everything was blurry. He groaned. Someone entered the living room.

“James?”

“No this is Patrick.” James answered deadpan. “Honestly Q, I thought you were supposed to be smart!”

“Firstly, You took my glasses. You should be glad I can distinguish you from Mordred right now. Secondly, why are you quoting Sponge bob at me?” Q asked in a tone that made it very clear that he was ready to murder someone or just fall asleep again at any moment.

“...Oh, yeah. I forgot about the glasses. You look adorable with out them, I have to say. Here you go--” James care fully placed Q’s glasses on his nose.

Q blinked twice and waited for his eyes to focus again. Right in front of him was James, smiling widely. Q shrunk back and tried to stand up in an effort to hide the slight blush on his cheeks.

“So. Why were you quoting sponge bob again?”

James took a step forward and held Q on his upper arms so he wouldn’t keel over. “I don’t know what Sponge bob is but that’s what Mordred sat to me when  I ran into him in the city the other day.”

Q rubbed his forehead. “Ah yes, he does that. And here I was, thinking you knew what memes were.”

“Whats a meme?”

***

Mordred cooking, James decided, was divine.

“You should become a Chef.” James mused, after finishing his third plate of Aglio olio and fourth glass of wine.

“How about I finish school first.” Mordred aswered snarkily.

Q snorted. “Aren’t you planning on becoming a pharmacist or bodyguard?”

James shook his head in confusion. “How are those two even related.”

Mordred looked at him weirdly.” They're not.”

“Then why would you? ...nevermind.”

Q rolled his eyes. “Mordred is interning with my uncle Gaius whose a Apothecary. if He’s good enough when Gaius retires he could have a change at taking, over like I did.”

“last I checked you were running Q-branch...”

“-and before me uncle Boothroyd was Q.”

James turned to Q. “Boothroyd was your uncle? That explains... so much.”

Mordred sighed. “could you leave the flirting till I'm back in my room.”

Q sat up straight. “He wasn’t flirting.”

“I was.”

“Since when?”

“Since before I broke into your flat. But sadly you’re faithful and straight and all that crap.”

Mordred let his head fall into his hands. “Here we go...” he muttered under his breath.

“And who would I be faithful to, exactly?”

“Your wife?”

“My--?” Q sputtered.

“Mordred’s mother?”

“Wait, you thought I was

straight

?”

Mordred raised his hand. “You do know I’m not actually Q’s son, right?”

James turned to Mordred. “Wait, what?”

Q looked almost gleeful as he explained. “Mordred is my sibling’s... .” Q turned to Mordred. “What do they call you?”

“Mostly ‘a baby’”

“No, no there was something else...”

“Lovechild? Morgause-spawn? Heir to the throne?”

“They really call you that?”

“I don’t have a second name, so they had to improvise when they were angry.”

Q shrugged. “Well, point stands. Mordred isn’t my son. He lives with me because he’s kind of my siblings adopted son? But he can’t live with them and their husband and apparently I can’t take care of my self or something--” the last part was muttered. “--So he lives with me.”

Mordred was staring at James wide eyed. “Wait. You thought I was Q’s son? Honestly? Q? Your Gaydar is BLOODY SHITE. YURUSENAI!”

James flinched and faced Q, who was rolling his eyes at Mordred. “Translation please?”

Q smirked at him. “He says your ability to build context about inter person relations and read peoples attractions is rather bad and that he won’t forgive you for thinking he was blood related to me.” Q paused. “I would be rather offended by that last statement if it wasn’t for the blatant sarcasm.”

James smiled dreamily. “This is why I love you.”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

Mordred took a sip of his water. “He said he loved you.”

[teamdoubleoh]

Q as Radiohost/ Head of the scientific community/ Government in Nightvale 

yes I illustrated my own Drabble, I have to much free time ok

[teamdoubleoh]

Boothroyd was Q’s Grandfather

vaguely (sorry) based on this post by @tamquamm and @spiritofcamelot s request. Also infused is @caffeinatedflummadiddlebutmerlin​ s gender fluid merlin, though I didn’t ask If I could use the concept, sorry.

pt. 1/2                                                                                                    wordcount: 3533                                                                                            unbeta:ed (And written by someone who can’t spell for shite in any language.)

Q has heard all about MI6 from his grandfather, Gregory, also known as Major Boothroyd. Bond’s predecessor as 007 used to annoy Boothroyd to no end so when Q meets Bond he finds himself unable to resist making one or three references to his grandfathers work at MI6. The older Minions are in on it, the younger ones think it’s hilarious and Bond thinks Q is very pretty when he smiles so he won’t ask what the hell is going on, as long as it makes Q happy.

TLTR: Q is a Holmes, the Minions treat quotes from Boothroyd like vines, Eve is a genius and Bond is in love. They get drunk, and Bond learns about Q and his family.

(This developed from a 500-word Drabble to a 3.6k monstrosity. Also Q is a Holmes and has a fourth sibling.)

When Bond had first met Q he’d still been unaccustomed to the name Q in reference to the Quartermaster. For as long as he’d been an agent the Quartermaster had been Major Gregory Boothroyd, who had been referred to by most agents as Major Boothroyd.

This had made calling the new Quartermaster Q very easy, and even though Bond liked to let of snarky remarks about Q’s age, he was well aware that Boothroyd would have never appointed anyone as R who wasn’t perfectly fit to take over as Quartermaster at any given time. And yet James had thought that this new Quartermaster would be someone who wasn’t used to the antics of agents or at least the double-oh’s and thus easier to irritate. He was wrong.

At First he had thought it coincidence.

Q had sat next to him in the national gallery, made a comment about the inevitability of time and handed him his equipment. Then, just as he was about to leave, he had reminded Bond to return the equipment in one piece.

There had been something in his eyes Bond couldn’t quite place - but it came close to a look he know from his missions - something in the eyes of someone who had just fooled everyone in a game of poker to go all in, only to reveal a royal flush.

James had dismissed it, had thought he’d interpreted too much into a single look. He should have known better, of course there had been something. Saying these words had meant more to Q than the pride of being the Quartermaster of MI6 could rectify. He had smiled his tight little smile and his eyes had shone with pure mirth.

It had happened again and again; pieces of dialogue between him and Q that seemed to light the Quartermaster up.

Once he had been going over the speed limit while on mission; not an irregular occurrence, sure, but for some reason Q had seemed delighted when he reminded Bond that he had a licence to kill, not to break the traffic laws. Bond had hesitated momentarily and answered that, yes he was aware. The pure satisfaction Q had radiated when he said »Good!« Had been clearly audible over com. So had been R’s snort in the background.

Another time they’d been standing in Q branch and Q had begrudgingly handed James a ›class four grenade‹, whatever that meant. James had been delighted to find that it looked very much like an ordinary pen and made a witty comment about how the pen was mightier than the sword. Q had smiled as he reminded Bond that that was now in fact the case and that James had to thank Q for that. James had smiled flirtily. »Did you just make joke Q?«

Q just shook his head in something that seemed to be a combination of genuine distress and mirth. »I never joke about my work 007.«

At least two senior minions had trouble to stifle their laughs while one of the new ones working nearby just grinned for the remainder of Bond’s stay in Q-Branch.

Since it was common knowledge that basically anything in Q-brach was deadly -  including any and all personnel - many of the A-list Agents and most of the double-oh’s were very careful when it came to touching things. The only double-oh who seemingly forgot this every time he appeared before and after missions was, of course, 007. He had the potentially fatal habit to pick up whatever was in his reach to twirl it around or trow it in the air.

One particular time he’d just put down a poisoned ring when he’d set eyes on a brown paper bag that looked innocent enough to him. When he went to pick it up Q turned around, lightning fast, and pulled the bag from his hands exclaiming loudly, »DON’T TOUCH THAT! That’s my lunch!« to the obvious amusement of everyone in the vicinity.

Whenever James said something remotely illogical, immature or not well thought out, Q immediately quipped »Oh, grow up 007«. After three weeks of this the phrase had become something of an inside joke between the minions and Bond, and even he could appreciate it, even though he didn’t quite understood why it was that funny.  

Bond only figured it out after Eve had invited him to one of her and Q’s monthly movie nights, though there was more drinking than movie watching.

***

They’d met at Q’s flat because it was located more or less exactly between Bond’s and Moneypenny’s. It was cozy and reasonably small, but not cluttered.  The living room was not very lived in, which made sense to James when he considered Q’s working habits, but well furnished.

There was a worn couch that could hold all three of them if they squeezed, as well as an armchair and a wooden coffee table. Next to two bookcases there was a drawer that was probably supposed to hold silverware and tablecloths but the bottom drawer was pulled open and filled to the brim with scraps and bits of old tech.

Much more interesting was what Q had placed on top of the drawer. There were photos. Photos of the Quartermaster, some of him alone with different diplomas, some together with others or groups of people.

To James’ amazement one showed Q standing next to Mycroft Holmes. Bond had been introduced once, by his M, who hadn’t actually mentioned what Holmes did - only that he was basically everyone’s superior and also on speaking terms with the Royal family.

Another picture displayed a black door adorned with golden letters, telling the passing crowd that this was number 221b. In front stood an old lady with two younger men behind her. One of them was Sherlock Holmes, Bonds realised, the genius detective who’d killed himself a few years back. The other, Bond recognised from his army days as one lieutenant John Watson. Next to the old lady there was the Quartermaster, bespectacled and wearing one of his cardigans.

One photo, at least twenty years old, displayed a younger version of M, Olivia Mansfield, next to a stern looking woman in a emerald green gown, that looked like it came straight from the late 19. hundreds, a woman that could only be described as ›motherly‹ and the woman from the picture with the detective.

The most recent picture was probably the one of the royal wedding. Bond remembered reading about it in a paper he’d nicked from a minions desk on his way to the airport. The crown prince Arthur Pendragon had caused a worldwide uproar when he’d announced he was not only bisexual but also planning to wed one Myrdinn Holmes.

The picture that stood in the very front showed a younger version of Q and Major Boothroyd. Q was standing behind Boothroyd’s motorised wheelchair in the old Q-Branch, the one that Silva had blow up, and both were smiling brightly at the camera.

Bond turned to Q who was setting down glasses on a small couch table.

»You and Boothroyd. You were close, weren’t you?« James asked softly.

Q hesitated before stepping next to Bond. He picked up the frame and showed Bond the backside where someone had written ›Q and Q - the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree’

James turned to look at Q. He know how the Quartermaster looked, he had spent enough time staring at him when Q wasn’t looking but only now he noticed how similar Q and Boothroyd had been, both in complexion and behaviour.

»He was your grandfather. I’m... sorry for your loss« James stated.

»Who?« Moneypenny asked. She had appeared in the doorway to the small kitchen, holding a bottle of some alcoholic beverage in hand, which she had apparently opened already.

»Boothroyd.« James answered quietly.

Q smiled, the nostalgia in his voice barely concealed »He used to tell me stories about MI6, when I was little. About his work and the agents.«

»Did he tell you about what a great agent I was?« Bond smirked, trying to lighten the mood a little.

»By the time you were a double-oh I was already working for MI6, unofficially I mean. He told me about 007 - your predecessor that is. It was a joke between him and me, you know? The ›grow up 007‹. We would make wagers about how often he could get away with saying it to 007 before he got suspicious.«

Moneypenny snorted a little.

Q smiled his brilliant smile at her, melancholy all but forgotten now. »He told be about you, too. Said you were brilliant. He always wanted to make a bet about how you would be M some day. I never accepted because I knew he was right.«

Moneypenny put her head to one side. »I was still an agent back then…«

Q only shrugged. »He said you were too good to be an agent.«

Moneypenny blushed lightly and smiled happily. »Sounds like he was a good grandfather.«

Bond grinned. »Sounds like he was just like Q.«

Q turned to the coffee table to pour three glasses of what appeared to be Bombay sapphire and gave James and Eve one each. »You’re both right. Now, what movie shall we get drunk to?«

***

Three hours later they were sprawled on top of each other across the seating accommodations.

The only source of light was a small lamp, standing atop the drawer, which emitted a warm, candle like light.

Eve had called dibs on the armchair ages ago, eying Q and James with barely hidden mirth.

After two hours of drinking she’d picked up the framed photo of the royal wedding and waxed about the beauty of the crown princes sister, while Q and James smiled, already too intoxicated to mind the terrible puns and metaphors comparing the duchess’s hair to the night sky and her eyes to stars. In a final motion of grandeur she’d remarked that the lady looked like she could kill anyone, just by staring them down.

After half an hour she’d put the frame back and hadn’t said a thing for at least thirty minutes before exclaiming in a fit of something that Q could only call euphoria, »R is Q’s second in command because R comes after Q in the alphabet!«

Then she’d closed her eyes and started snoring softly.

Q, who had given up trying to keep his distance from James on the tiny couch and instead had now sprawled out on top of the other man like a drunk blanket, had only murmured »Bloody hell« before refraining from saying anything more and staring at the ceiling in silent contemplation instead.

Bond was silent. There was a warm, fuzzy feeling in his chest that could have been caused by alcohol as much as by the adorable idiot that had chosen him as his mattress and was now studying the ceiling.

Bond turned his head, slowly, as not to disturb Q, to look at the picture of Q and Boothroyd - Q’s grandfather - on the drawer next to the couch.

»Did you know M? Olivia Mansfield?« He asked softly.

Q turned his face towards the drawer too. »Why else would I keep her picture?« His answer had been barely a murmur but the voice was right next to James’s ear.

James snorted softly. »You can’t tell me you know everyone in these Photos Q.«

»You’re adorable.«Q smiled lazily against Bonds chest.

Bonds heartbeat quickened the slightest bit. »Q. You do know there is a photo of Mycroft Holmes on your drawer.«

Q wiggled a bit so he could see the frames without rearranging his vertebrae and frowned slightly. »Why wouldn’t I know Mycroft?«

Bond wanted to shrug, but Q sounded like he was almost asleep. » M - my M - introduced me once. Told me he was her superior. Said he was friends with the Royal family.« He paused for a second, before continuing »She also told me to never, ever, piss him off.«

»She knew you well, huh?«

»S’pose so.«

»Granperé told Mycroft about you too.«

»Boothroyd told Mycroft Holmes about me?«

»’Told him about all agents.« Q corrected.

Bond smiled about the absurdity. »Your Grandfather spied at MI6 for Mycroft Holmes?«

» ’course. So do I« Q slurred, before snuggling closer to James’ chest.

»Why? He’s Mycroft Holmes. ’s not like he needs outside support now, does he?«

»Outside?«

»Y’know, not family.«

»Boothroyd was Mycroft’s family, Bond.«

James chocked on air. »You’re related to Holmes? What, s’ he your uncle?«

»Don’t be daft Bond, I’m not related to a Holmes- «

»Could you stop calling me Bond all the time?«

»If you stop interrupting me I will. I’m not related to a Holmes, I am a Holmes.«

» You’re a Holmes… Mycroft Holmes is your cousin.«

»Brother.«

»…Ah.«

Q found that he was almost asleep, which was a feat in itself, considering where he was currently located.

Then James spoke up again. »That’s how you now the royal family then? Through Mycroft?«

»Why the royal family?«

»You have a picture of the royal wedding framed Q. Although I s’pose keeping a picture of your brother and your former Boss is slightly different from keeping picture of the Pendragon family, even if you were introduced. Hadn’t taken you for a royalist, Dear Quartermaster.«

»My former Boss?«

»M, Q. Olivia Mansfield?«

»Oh yeah. I don’t keep her picture because she w’s my boss.«

» ’Thought you only kept pictures of people you knew.«

»Actually not true. ’only keep pictures of Fam’ly.«

»You’re related to M?« Bond had known M had had children, but not much else.

»My mothers sister. One of the four Ms.« Q giggled like he’d made a formidable joke.

»Your’ aunt’s and mother’s names all start with M?« James asked, a smile on his lips.

» ’course not, James. You know M’s name was Olivia. They all grew up to be M though.«

Q reached out to grab the picture displaying M and what apparently were her sisters but failed.

James picked it up and handed it to Q, who turned so he faced the ceiling again and pointed at M to explain.

»You know Olivia Mansfield, born Holmes, who was called M for her position in MI6.«

He pointed at the woman who James had dubbed ›motherly‹ upon first glance a few hours back. »This is my mother. Her name is Violet Holmes. She kept her last name when she married my father but no one calls her Violet of even Mrs. Holmes. Everyone just calls her Mummy. Mycroft started it when we were kids and it stuck. This is her older sister, Minerva,« Q pointed out the stern looking woman. »She’s Headmistress in a… private school up north… well. And this is Martha, the youngest. She got married too, but Mr. Hudson did some illegal stuff on the other side of the pond and got himself on death trail. Martha asked Sherlock for help, of course. Now she lives in London again. Thus the four Ms; Minerva, Mummy, M and Martha.« Q trailed off.

James picked up the photo of the woman he now knew as Martha Hudson in front of the door and showed it to Q, pointing out the short man standing behind her left shoulder. »John Watson, right? I know him. Used to know him, I mean, in the army.«

»Hasn’t been a Watson in some time though. Goes by John Watson-Holmes now. ’S my brother in law.«

»Mycroft is married?« James asked softly. ›Mycroft is gay?‹ went unsaid.

»He’s married, alright. Not to John mind you, but Lestrade. His first name is Greg, but everyone ’cept Mycroft calls him Lestrade. Gregory Lestrade-Holmes is quite a mouthful, so we collectively decided to go with the easier option.« Q grinned lazily.

James blinked a few times. Now Q had lost him. »’Thought you said John was you brother-in-law?«

»I have more than one sibling, James. John is married to Sherlock, my second brother.«

» Thought I lost you back there for a mo’. How are you related to the Pendragons then? You in line for the throne or s’mthing?« James joked.

Q laughed for a few glorious seconds before catching his breath. » Yes, very funny James.«

»You said you only kept photos of your family Q,« James answered with fake outrage. »And now I have to find out you’re not actually related to Royalty?«

»Don’t be silly James, I know what I said. And technically I am related to them, though only by marriage. Hand me the photo of the wedding and I'll show you.«

James complied happily. »I have to say Q. After the confusion with your brothers I am now genuinely interested how you could possibly complicate this further.«

Q let out a stifled groan. He pointed out the few familiar faces out of the crowd of nobility behind them. While the nobles kept in the back the King stood in the middle of the picture, right behind the happy couple. To Arthurs right there was his sister, smiling happily at her brother, who only had eyes for his husband. »It’s not that bad. Let me show you. This is the king, as I hope you realise. These are his children Morgana also known as Eve’s long-time crush and -.«

»I know you think me a fool Q, but I do recognise the King of the country I have sworn my life to.« James smiled while shaking his head in disbelief.

Q groaned. »Oh shush James. If you’re so knowledgable, why don’t you tell me who these people are and save me the effort, hm?«

James mentally shrugged. There were only four people in Britain who were actually royals at the moment and he knew their names. After all, he had legally died for one of them.

He pointed at each person as he went along. » This is, as you have so graciously explained dear Q, the King, Uther Pendragon, whom I coincidentally happen to have sworn my life too. Then there’s the crown prince, Arthur Pendragon, who I will pledge my life to should I mysteriously manage to outlive the King. This one is the lovely lady who Eve has the undeniable crush on. Huh.« He pulled the framer closer. »She really does look like she could kill me. Name’s Morgana Pendragon, illegitimate daughter to the king. I believe she a duchess but I couldn’t tell you her title if my life depended on it.«

»If it’s any consolation, I don’t know it either.« Q quipped.

James rolled his eyes fondly. »I thought you wanted to save your breath, Q.«

Q only let out a ›tsk‹ noise, so James returned to his explanation. »And that is the crown prince’s husband, of whom I only know because I nicked a newspaper from Q-Branch on my way to the airport. Should both Uther and Arthur die before me I would pledge my life to him too, I suppose.« James mused. »His name is Myrdinn Pendragon. I’m sorry to admit I don’t know his title though.«

»He goes by ›prince consort‹. Now, you see who that is standing in the far left corner, right behind the lady so-and-so?«

»Is that…Mummy?«

»Hm hm. That next to her is my father. If you squint you can even see me, right next to Mummy. I was wearing a suit, you know. Mummy confiscated all my cardigans. To my left there even are two of my siblings and their husbands.« Q seemed genuinely upset about the fact that he hadn’t been able to wear a cardigan to the royal wedding.

»Two of your siblings? You have a sister?«

»Occasionally. They’re gender fluid.« Q frowned up at James, scrunching his nose. »You do know what gender fluidity is?«

»I’m an agent, I know about people. You have another sibling then?«

»’s male that day. Name ’s Merlin. He’s right there.« Q murmured, eyes fallen shut from fatigue.

James brought the picture to his face, trying to make out another figure in the crowd he now recognised as the Holmes’.

As if sensing his confusion Q looked up. »In the middle, James.«

James’ eyes darted back to the middle where the royal family stood.

For a moment it was silent.

»Q« James asked gingerly.

»Hm?« Q’s eyes had fallen shut again.

»Are you telling me your brother is married to the crown prince?«

»Sibling. Yes.«

»…Alright.«

It was quiet for another few seconds.

»Who used to be your favourite?«

»Hm?«

»You said Boothroyd used to tell you about the agents. Who was your favourite?«

»Moneypenny.« Q answered deadpan.

»Awe, you hurt me dear Q.« James put the pile of picture frames on the floor next to the couch, then he wiggled to make himself more comfortable and slung his arms around Q. »Who’s your favourite now?«

»Oh, grow up 007.« Q murmured, face pressed against Bonds chest. For a few seconds he was silent. Then Q spoke up again. »James?«

»Q.«

»Would you mind putting out the light?«

»Not at all. If you could do us all the favour and introduce Eve to your sister-in-law.«

»I’ll invite you both for Christmas at the palace.«

»You are lovely, you know that.«

»So are you. Now shut it.«