#mi6cafe

[tenpointsforq]

Amnesia fic! Either Q or James (even if I’d love to read one featuring Q not remembering his relationship with JB).

A/N: Why do you give me the tools with which to destroy you?

—

The man formerly known as Q woke in a large, otherwise empty bed. Pale light washed across the linens, creating peaks and valleys where the fabric eddied around his knees and hips. He blinked, and tried to remember where he was. The room was a rich midnight blue. Wooden blinds covered the windows. A dark wooden armoire stood guard in the corner of the room. None of the furniture looked familiar. 

He scanned his body. There was no headache, no nausea. He was wearing flannel pyjama bottoms and a t-shirt whose decal was so faded he couldn’t make it out in the dim light. As far as he could tell he wasn’t hungover, and he likely hadn’t passed out at a paramour’s home. That still didn’t explain where the fuck he was. 

He scrubbed a thin-fingered hand through his hair, and was surprised to find long tufts of curls. He’d always kept his hair a little longer than his mother would have liked, when she were still alive. But even this length seemed excessive. He couldn’t remember how long his hair was supposed to be. He couldn’t remember the night before. The day before. The week before. A swell of fear rose in his chest. It was hard to catch his breath. He sat up, and noticed that the spot in the bed next to him was warm, though vacant.

The wooden floor was chilly underfoot as he stumbled across the room to the window. He opened the blinds, hoping that he could at least figure out where in London he was by the view. When he was instead greeted by grassy hills speckled with dark boulders that dipped down to a churning sea, the fear in his chest twisted to panic. His breath was ragged in his chest, scraping against his ribcage as it clawed through his body. The corners of his vision darkened. 

There was a quiet knock at the door. 

The man formerly known as Q knelt on the floor. He pressed his head to the cool, wide wooden planks and watched the fugue of his breath cast a pale moss across the shiny surface. 

The door opened. A man walked in- average height, muscular, close cropped hair and the bluest eyes that could possibly exist. He had a small tray in his hands, with two steaming mugs and a pile of toast. 

“You’re up earlier than usual,” the visitor said. 

“Where am I?”  

“Roonah Point- in Western Ireland.” The visitor took a few steps into the room and set the tray down on a small table in the corner. “I’m afraid I have bad news for you, but maybe the tea will ease things a little. Would you like to come up off the floor?” 

The visitor’s voice was confident, almost cocksure. After careful deliberation the man formerly known as Q rose to his feet and walked over to the table. 

“Am I dying?” He asked. 

The visitor cocked his head to one side. “Why would you think that?”

“You said you had bad news. It was the first thing I thought of.” 

“You’re not dying. At least- not any sooner than you should be.”

“Then what’s the bad news? And where am I? And who the fuck are you?”

Maybe I’m dreaming, he thought to himself. But somehow, he doubted it. 

“Here-” the visitor held out a mug. It had a large, black Q emblazoned on the side, with a small number ten just beneath it. He wondered what it meant. Regardless, the tea inside the mug was delicious. Perfectly steeped earl gray with a touch of cream, just how he liked it. 

“I’m afraid that while you are not dying, you are ill, in a manner of speaking.” The visitor said. “You were in an accident a little over a year ago- you healed fine, mostly. But there was some significant damage to your memory. You struggle to convert short term memories into long term memories, and a good chunk of time from before the accident seems to be missing as well. Your loved ones hired out this house here, and I’m here to care for you, to keep you comfortable. My name is James.” 

“My loved ones?” 

“Yes. Do you remember your family?” James asked. His eyes tightened, and he took a long pull from his mug. 

“My parents are dead. I have a sister but we’re on bad terms.” 

“That’s right,” James said. “Although you’re on better terms now, so to speak. Celine visits twice a year. She’ll be back in a month.” 

“But I’m not going to remember that by the time she gets here, am I?” Q asked. His mind was racing through the implications of what James had explained to him. 

“No, likely not,” said James. 

“Am I going to remember this conversation?” Q took another pull from the mug, then selected a triangle of toast to nibble on. 

“For a little while, but it’ll fade,” James said. 

“How many times have we had this conversation?” The man formerly known as Q asked. 

“I’ve stopped keeping count,” said James with a smirk. “But there are worse conversations to have over breakfast.” 

They drank their tea, and then James suggested they go for a walk. 

“You like to watch the ocean on blustery days,” James said. He drained the rest of his mug. There was a ring on the man’s finger. Silver, with some kind of etching that was difficult to read from a distance. 

“You’re married,” The man formerly known as Q said. 

“I am. Going on three years, now,” James replied. 

“But you live here?” 

“Most of the time. I lease a flat in London, too. Sometimes I go back for holidays or to do some contract work for an old job.” 

“Your partner doesn’t mind? Where is he?”

James smiled. “He doesn’t mind much. He knows that this is important to me. Or at least, I hope they do. He’s not far, either. I see him most days.” 

“What’s his name?” 

“Drink your tea. We have a walk to go on. Waves to watch.” 

James showed him where his clothes were kept and gestured to a pair of well-worn boots in the corner of the room. Then he took the tea tray and left. The man formerly known as Q changed into jeans and a thick wool sweater. He tugged the boots on over his socks. He looked out the window. Gray clouds were moving at a furious pace across the sky. Birds twisted and dove through the air. He felt unmoored. Confused. He tucked those feelings deeper inside himself and made his way out of the bedroom and down a narrow hallway lined with artwork he mostly didn’t recognize, but some he  strangely did. 

The hall opened to a living room with panelled walls painted in a deep hunter green. The room was dominated by a fireplace and a large leather sofa, with built in bookshelves lining the far wall. There were pictures and knick knacks propped on surfaces around the room. Some were his- he recognized a photo of him and his college roommate at graduation. There was a figurine of the Eiffel Tower that he’d gotten on a trip as a child. Other items seemed to be bits and bobs collected from far flung places. James returned to the room while he was examining a porcelain figurine of a tabby cat. 

“From Japan,” was all that James said. Then he crossed the room and pulled open a small door. He pulled out two coats, and held out an olive green one.  

“What’s my name?” The man formerly known as Q asked. His mouth was dry. He was afraid to ask, and he wasn’t sure why. For some reason, it terrified him to think that this man knew the answer to that question. Like there was a danger just out of his field of vision. 

“You tell me,” James said. “If you want.” 

“Thomas.” 

“That’s right,” James said with a tight nod. 

“That’s not the name I go by, though,” Thomas said, and the briefest of smiles flashed across James’ face. 

“It’s not. You’re right.” James said. 

“What do you call me?” 

“I call you Q, some of the time,” James said with a smile. 

Thomas decided that he liked that more, and something inside him shifted to make room for this other version of himself. Whomever he was that brought such a smile to this strange, caring man’s lips. He tucked Thomas away, and took on the mantle of Q. It felt more comfortable. More him. 

James opened the door and a blast of cold air filled the room. Q pulled on the offered coat and zipped it to his chin. He followed James out the door, and then moved to stand beside him. Together they walked down a muddy path worn into the hillside. Q thought he saw the remnants of boot prints in the dirt. Traces of a traveler from the day before, perhaps. He wondered if they were his own. The treads didn’t match the tracks that James was leaving in the mud beside him. 

They made their way to the edge of a rocky cliff. Dozens of feet below, the sea churned in on itself in a tangled mass of waves. James was right. Q enjoyed watching the waves immensely as they beat against the rocky shore. Wind whipped through his hair and stung his cheeks. James moved to stand on his other side, the bulk of his body shielding Q from the worst of the wind. Q glanced down, and saw that James was worrying at the ring on his left hand. Q squeezed his own fingers, frigid from the cold. 

“There are gloves in your pocket,” James said. Q reached inside, and found soft, knit gloves. He slid them on. 

“Thank you,” Q said. 

“I’d try to get you to wear a hat, too, but you don’t like how it squashes your curls,” James said. “I gave up on that a few months ago.” 

“How long have we been here?” Q asked. 

“Sixteen months, give or take. It’s hard to track the time,” James replied, and Q could tell that there was a lot that the man wasn’t saying. 

“Almost half the time you’ve been married,’ Q observed. 

“Almost,” Bond nodded placidly. 

“And do we do this every day? You come and explain to me that I am an invalid, permanently unmoored from time, and then make me tea and we go for a walk?” 

“Just about,” Bond said. “Sometimes I make us a proper breakfast first. Sometimes you’re a bit angrier when I explain things. Rightly so, of course. Then there are days that you remember a little bit more.” 

“I remember more?” Q asked. 

“Just a little. I think sometimes you have dreams that help bridge the gap. You wake up and remember who I am, at least. You remember more about your life around the time of the accident. It’s not much more, usually, but it’s enough to make those days different.” 

Q glanced away from the waves and back towards the little cottage where they’d ventured from. He could see a small gray car in the driveway. There was a shed off to the side of the house and a substantial wood pile, though he couldn’t see any nearby trees. 

“And do I ever remember that we’re married?” Q asked. James stiffened next to him. 

“No. You never remember that,” the man replied after a long moment. 

The sadness in James’ voice made Q want to reach over and take his hand. He shoved his hands in his pockets instead. 

“You must hate me a great deal for that,” Q said quietly. 

“Never,” James said. And he turned towards Q, and laid a hand on Q’s shoulder. His blue eyes blazed despite the dull gray day around them. “I don’t hate you. I hate the situation sometimes. I mourn the time we lost, and I grieve the memories we were promised. But I could never hate you. I’m grateful you’re alive and here and I can stand beside you still, in whatever capacity you’ll have me.” 

“Thank you,” Q said. And there were a million more complicated thoughts and emotions roiling inside of him. He had the sense that some days, he might roll up his sleeves and sort through them. But today, he wanted only to exist in this comfortable pocket of a life that James had provided for them. He wanted to drink tea and watch the sea and learn more about the man that stood beside him, through sickness and health. 

Q reached out and took James’ hand. He held it tightly. He hoped he would hold it tomorrow, too.

[dassandre-00qpidsarrow]

Gemma Sinclair - Introduction Post

Name:  Redacted

Alias:  Gemma (Gem) Sinclair Occupation: Undercover MI6 Operative - Barista; Caffeine Purveyor to the Needy of London

Once a highly skilled MI6 Senior Intelligence Officer who was flirting with becoming a Double-O, Gemma Sinclair lost most of her vision during an accident on a mission stateside.  Putting to M the argument that she still had something to offer the service that had already spent so much on developing her skills, Gem suggested she become an “Echo,” one of MI6’s in plain sight spies who are in a position to overhear all manner of conversation, but whose presence is largely ignored: restaurant servers, taxi drivers, hair stylists, baristas, and the like.  All fully vetted and trained MI6 intelligence agents, Echoes serve in key locales around the world, even on home soil.

It had taken some time relearning to “see” and adapting her espionage skills accordingly, but it was decided that Gem would reopen the coffee cart she had owned prior to being recruited years earlier.  It had been insanely popular then; Gem’s skills with her La Marzocco Linea Classic espresso machine had brought people from all over London to her queue-- politicians, embassy mission personnel, and the PAs of top international corporate and banking executives, among them.  All of them desperate for that buzz of caffeine; all of them equally lax when it came to keeping their mouths shut on their mobiles as they waited for their flat whites, cappuccinos, and cortados with oat milk and vanilla syrup.  That Gem’s baked goods were equally lucious had brought even bigger queues, one that included her eventual recruiter who couldn’t get enough of her triple-chocolate fudge brownies and almond croissants.

Age: 33

Special Skills:  Nicknamed “The Coffee Whisperer” by her more devoted customers, she has been called instinctively gifted when it comes to brewing the bean.  In her fully sighted days, she was able to “read” a new customer’s order in their eyes before they actually voiced it.  Now she senses it in their mien and tone as they wait in her queue.  Sometimes the coffee drink the customer is given might not be what they ordered but, rather, what they need.  No one has ever complained.  Well, not after the first sip, at any rate.  

Gem’s hearing has always been extremely acute, but even more so now, and she is able to keep track of multiple conversations going on around her cart, even as she talks with the customers, and makes their drinks.  Her intelligence gathering skills are the highest among the Echoes -- Gem is ever amused at how people seem to think that because she is mostly blind, she must be deaf, too -- and the increasing popularity of her cart has M considering releasing funding for Gem to have the part time help of a junior agent during peak hours.  In the last six months alone, Gem has passed along key intelligence that ultimately led to several successful missions in the protection of King and Country. 

Gem is fluent in several languages -- Russian, Spanish, French, and Portuguese -- and conversational in three others (Mandarin Chinese, Farsi, and Tagalog), not that her customers have any idea she is multilingual.  She always chats with them in her native Scots brogue -- Gaelic being her first language even before she learnt English -- which she’d had to tame down when she’d become an agent.  

Best Friend:  Gem’s best friend is her yellow Labrador Retriever, Bumble.  He helps keep an eye on Gem as she’s busy keeping an eye out on The Commonwealth.  Always at her side, Bumble is a trained service dog with highly protective instincts.  Everyone who comes to Gem’s cart knows that Bumble is as goofily loving as his name suggests, but that he is there to assist Gem in whatever she needs.  Though technically owned by MI6, as they paid for him and his training, Bumble is the best thing to happen to Gem, and she loves him dearly.  Yes, even when he steals her socks or wakes her up in the middle of the night with a sneak attack, slobbery kiss on the mouth.  Ugh!

Other Friends:  Mac, a cryptographer from Q-Branch is easily her most frequent customer.  Though he’s often fetching coffee and brownies for his boss, The Quartermaster, the man never leaves empty handed for himself.  She can always tell what kind of day he’s having once she senses him in the queue, and on good days has a hot white chocolate mocha ready for him.  Otherwise, she passes him an Ethiopian dark to match his mood, and she always keeps a chocolate cream-filled fairy cake and a cruller in reserve for him. 

They’ve struck up a good friendship over the years.  He always remembers to bring a treat for Bumble, and because he never knew her when she was sighted -- he didn’t start with Six until a year after her accident -- he always chats with her without the undertone of pity that frequently tinges the conversations she has with people she knew “before.”  Though she never quite knows when he’ll appear, Mac always does.  Without fail.  He’s just as desperate for his caffeine fix as the rest of Six is, after all.  

Only once did he not show, and it had worried Gem to the point that she had her Six appointed driver (a story in and of itself) drive her to Q-Branch headquarters (the back entrance, of course) when she packed up for the day.  Gem was directed to Medical where she found a doctor stitching up the back of his head.   An overly nervous newbie intern hadn’t been paying attention to where he was going, was running through the twisting corridors of the Churchill tunnels to catch up with the rest of the intro tour, and crashed into Mac, sending him into one of the stone walls where he cracked his head, knocking him unconscious.  Mac got free coffees and baked goods for a fortnight after that incident; the first week was on the newbie, the second was on Gemma.

Coffee Cart’s Name:  Buzz & Bark.  The double meaning of “Buzz” in this case being the buzz of caffeine along with the buzz of intelligence-worthy gossip.  The “Bark”, of course, is for her beloved Bumble.

Lives In:  A converted warehouse in Pimlico owned by MI6.  While not huge, it provides Gemma with not only a comfortable space for her and Bumble to live in but it houses a small commercial kitchen in which she bakes the goods for her cart.  It’s perfect for the two of them, but Gem admits to getting a tad lonely.

Favourite Food:  She’s a slave for anything in rice paper be it a fresh Vietnamese spring roll or sashimi wraps.

Least Favourite Food:  Hobnob biscuits.  No.  Just … no.

Vices:  Audiobooks.  She has several thousand in her library and likes to listen to them as she bakes.  This can get a bit awkward for her neighbours when she forgets to turn down the volume on the romance titles and the sex scenes get going.  She’s particularly fond of male LGBTQ+ titles, and they get S T E A M Y!   She also has a penchant for American iced sweet tea, which she always drinks in private.  The gasps of horror from others simply too much to contend with.  Bumble, of course, doesn’t give a shite.

Contends with Boredom:  By reading cookbooks and baking books.  Gem can still see a little bit via a pinhole’s worth of vision in her left eye, and is ever so grateful for it.  She binge watches British Bake Off and whatever the latest crime show is. Snuggling with Bumble.  He’s bloody brilliant at it.

Deals with Frustration:  By going to the shooting range at MI6, and with the Quartermaster’s assistance, blows the absolute shite out of the targets.  Q makes sure no one else is on the range, and lets Gem have at it -- safely, of course.  It’s highly therapeutic.

Other Tidbits:  Even though she is tasked as an Echo, Gem is still a senior intelligence officer on assignment; therefore, she still gets operational support from MI6.  In addition to Bumble and the warehouse, this also means weaponry and gadgets from Q-Branch.  All of which have been specially modified for her disability.  Whilst it is not safe for her to use a firearm in public, Gem is highly skilled with a knife, and is always armed with one.  A panic button has been installed, and cleverly hidden, in her coffee cart should she be attacked, and the sunglasses she wears have been modified by Q-Branch technology, enhancing that pinhole of vision she retained after the accident.

Why Will She Be at JellyfishCon?  Why else?  To serve coffee to the caffeine-needy and to gather intelligence.  You never know who’s going to show up.  Especially among the mystery writers downstairs.  Always shady, that group is.

[boffin1710]

007 Fest Intro - Mac

Name: Mac

Occupation: Cryptographer | Q Branch, MI6. Started at age 17 as an intern in Technical Services and quickly came to Q’s attention. Was offered a job in Q Branch upon graduation. Job skills are proficient at being a Quartermaster herder, Q’s Gopher and tea wench, and all around expert at running interference for the Quartermaster.

Age: 20 (Q Branch Toddler)

Special skills: Talented Vault Breaker, secret key cryptographer, and able to speak/decipher “Q” when he confused others with his rambling about a project.

Friends: still hangs with a couple of techie friends from uni for food and drinks. Is close with a first cousin, Katherine, who he grew up living next door to, like siblings. Befriends the newbie interns because he knows how overwhelming the first days are in TSS and Q Branch.

Lives in: lives in a small flat in Bermondsey with his cat named Alberti after that Father of cryptography.

How they feel about where they live: Wishes it was closer to work but can’t afford that yet. Decorated in a cross between modern hipster and Art Deco.

Favourite food: eggy porn and anything pasta related

Least favourite food: pizza which makes takeaway at work an issue.

Vices: Anything Doctor Who and Amaretto

Most significant childhood memory: family and his cousin’s family all going on holiday together to Disneyland Paris

Handles boredom by: Music. Loud and unconventional for what you would expect his liking... Frank Sinatra era music. And binge watching the Man from Uncle TV series.

Deals with frustration by: Getting quiet, over researching what he is frustrated about. If it’s a person/people the more frustrated he becomes by them the more he tends to avoid having to deal with them.

[myndelling]

WIP Wednesday

Q was finally ready to work with me on one of my fics and man, he is not happy:

You just disappeared! No note, no message, not even a fuck-you-very-much. It’s worse than being treated like garbage - at least the fish and chips wrapper is afforded the decency of being put in the bin after it has served its purpose. But apparently I didn’t even deserve to be told I was no longer useful.

[mi6-cafe]

Our Week 2 LDWS Drabbles are here!

Prompt: an image prompt of a red train travelling over a stone bridge in a tree-filled Scottish landscape:

Word count: 150

You can read their drabbles HERE and vote for your top three favorites using THIS FORM!

Thank you so much not just to our writers, but also to our readers and voters—we couldn’t have this competition without any of your valuable contributions. <3

We’ll release voting results on Monday. Good luck with week two, writers!

And join us in discord Saturday night at 9pm eastern to read the drabbles aloud!

[pommedepersephone]

Mendacity

Week 2 of Festive Fanworks Fiesta over at @mi6-cafe!

Prompt: Felix is in London for the week, and James takes it upon himself to show him all the sights, take him to the best restaurants, and generally woo him.

Words: 2K

Rating: General

Relationships: James Bond/Felix Leiter

London in winter is not where Felix had hoped to find himself, but his exhaustion and general annoyance at the trials and tribulations of international travel all melt away like ice cream on hot concrete when he sees James standing outside customs. It’s a gooey sentimental sort of feeling (ice cream might have been exactly the right metaphor) that he doesn’t waste time analyzing in the least. 

[crewman-penelope]

007 Fest Introduction Post

Hello, I'm Penny!

I'm one member of Station Atlantic and will tag amoung the official tags #gingerfan. I'm a fan-fic writer ( at least I do have awesome stories in my head, I just have to get them out) , like to edit pictures, and make horrible gifs. I'm also role-playing as Lyutsifer Safin on @safinsisland . English is not my mother's tongue!

My character for fin-fiction events this Fest is Ginger.

Ginger is a retired biochemist who had worked for the British government.

Now, in her fifties, she enjoyed her retirement in the sun, with the occasional visit to good old England. Just to find out the former workmate she wanted to pick up for the coffee and rumours chat is in a kind of .... coma? Like every other laboratory worker in the hidden facility?

Well, isn't that marvellous? Seems like retirement just got exciting. It's time to get the laboratory coat on again!

@mi6-cafe

[teamcivilian]

Announcement for a special Remembrance

Some of you know Tenshi aka slimysuckers aka Alexis from the last year(s) of the 007 fest.

A member of the team civilian and shipper of 00Q, she was a very much liked and gentle person. Many of you - and others - got to know her as a chat partner for James Bond related subjects, as for private, friendly conversation.

She left earth at the 7th of March and is clearly missed in this Fandom.

So I talked to others at this time (please look here) and I proposed a Tenshi Day for the next 007 fest.

It will be at the 15th of July for us, lots of time to prepare.

We want to cherish her, speak her name, tell anecdotes, make gifs, etc for her. What we are comfortable with.

No one will be forced to anticipate, and no one will be forced to use the 15th. If you want to post something earlier, later, more often, just tag 'tenshiday' and it will get reblogged on the civilian Blog. Of course we can reblog it also on private Blogs. Speak a person's name and they will not die.

I hope I did not overstep with this announcement and wish you all a wonderful 007 fest 2023!

Much love,

Penny