Pairing: 00Q (James Bond/Q)
Rating: Teen and Up Audiences
Additional notes: Unbeta-ed.
It was clear what was happening, but of course, the only one oblivious to the situation was the main focus himself—Q. Eve honestly wasn’t surprised, though; the man was too busy keeping agents alive, inventing and updating MI6’s technology, wrangling with Accounting, generally working himself to the ground to notice much of anything else.
Everything had started out much like how things like these tended to go: casual flirting. Although ‘casual’ wasn’t the adjective Eve would use to describe the level of charged tension that had sparked like wildfire the second Q and Bond had met in room 34 of the National Gallery. Everyone could see it, even down to the bodyguards that had just been freshly assigned to the new Quartermaster on that particular meeting.
At first, the rumors were thin, just the normal, expected sort of hearsay of the gossip mill all workplaces had. However, as time went on, rumors turned into stories turned into sequels turned into betting pools about who would make the first move, if they would really go out, whether there was actually anything there or not. All sorts.
(Eve didn’t claim she hadn’t contributed to some of those bets, but that was a whole other thing altogether.)
There was no confirmed legitimacy behind all of this, of course, but with Eve being who she was, she kept an eye on the pair in question. Not for her own entertainment, no, but more of a… reassurance because Bond had a track record of breaking hearts and changing partners like the clothes on his back, and she was too fond of Q—of his passion and enthusiasm and sharp intelligence—to let Bond ruin him under those destructive hands. Bond liked flings (flings were easy), but if he had the same view when it came to Q, then he had another think coming.
But, really, nothing had actually seemed amiss… until the trinkets started arriving back home on English soil along with Bond, all battered, bruised, and charming as a big, preening cat. And knowing too well Q’s own tolerance towards all things feline, Eve set out to pay even closer attention to these two, especially Bond because she needed to plot out how to corner him successfully first.
In retrospect, this had been around the time when she had begun to notice it.
Little things at first: throw away comments that Q included here and there just because he could, wit and snark always at the ready. Things like, “Bring me back some of that tea, would you?” or “Hmm, I don’t think I’ve tried that sweet before, no,” or merely, “Interesting,” to any random object he happened to see through the security feed. All sounding quite bored in the process, too. But then days or weeks or even months later, Bond would strut back to Six with said tea, sweets, or trinkets in tow before setting them down almost carelessly onto Q’s desk with a sort of self-satisfied smirk in place. And just like that, they started, once again, on their usual barb-trading session.
If this was some kind of courting dance, this was one of the more quirkier ones that Eve had personally ever seen.
Initially, she chalked it up to Bond trying to fulfill these small, random wishes to get into Q’s good book and possibly woo him. But things took an odd turn (as they always did in this place) when Bond dragged himself back with a dislocated shoulder and one too many cracked ribs, and actually got himself to Medical instead of holing up somewhere to lick his wounds and drown in alcohol.
Just because, as far as Eve knew, Q told him to.
When she mentioned this to said boffin in question, Q just waved it away.
“Don’t be ridiculous, Eve,” Q said distractedly, working on one of his myriad of prototypes. “He went to Medical because he knew what was good for himself. Not because of me.” He was soldering something on a circuit board.
“You don’t really believe that, do you?” Eve raised an eyebrow at him, arms folded in front of her chest.
Q sighed, almost exasperated as he put down his tools and turned to look at her. “What else am I supposed to believe? That James Bloody Bond, what, can’t say no to me?”
Eve shrugged. “Tell him to remember to turn in his equipment from now on,” she said.
He stared at her. “Like I haven’t told him exactly the same thing before? Multiple times?” In fact, it had come to a point where Q just didn’t bother anymore. Accounting had submitted for the time being and had stopped hounding him for grossing up a large chunk of funding. They would rise back from the death soon enough, he knew, but for now, Q was contented enough to reign over his domain without feeling like he was snowed in under some form of deep debt.
She waved a dismissive hand. “That’s different. Tell him that again, and it doesn’t hurt to casually throw in some references about all the hard work you obviously put into your work in the meantime as well.”
Q rolled his eyes but, eventually, did as she said anyway.
(They were both too curious to skip over this sort of experiment.)
The first time Bond brought back his equipment in full, albeit maimed with some entirely broken, Q called it a fluke.
But as the third time came around and rolled away, he said nothing, and Eve only smirked from the sideline while looking at his frown that was equal halves of denial and confusion.
It caused quite a stir around MI6, too. Even M caught wind of it, and Eve had to admit, this was starting to seem less like wooing for some flimsy, month-long affair and more like courting for a, dare she say it, possibly long-term, committed relationship.
Q still refused to believe it, though, because he would always be a skeptic and would always have a less than impressive personal regards of himself. But even he couldn’t remain stubborn for long, not after what happened at the ninth count.
It was an assignment in Uruguay that went pear shape, as usual, when the leader of the cartel Bond had been tracking decided to blow himself up in a small chemical plant. It was an extensive blast that started a fire that caught on rapidly. However, instead of running away after helping with the staff evacuation, Bond ran back inside the definitely collapsing building.
To retrieve Q’s tranquilizer pen that he had dropped.
Everyone breathed a sigh of relief when Bond managed to scrape out of there barely before the flames swallowed up that last possible point of exit.
Q was fuming by the end of it, rambling and cursing under his breath about stupid and reckless and idiotic Double-Os who were out to make sure he would sooner die of a heart attack than of old age…
Eve, who had wisely removed herself out of his direct line of sight, had never seen him so outright angry in all honesty. Although she suspected a lot of it stemmed from worried concern than actual, burning fury.
1. They confirmed that Bond couldn’t say no to Q. Not anymore.
2. Bond actually always brought back his equipment now. But really, after that stunt he just pulled? Eve wasn’t sure how amusing that was anymore.
(No, it was still pretty amusing, especially when Q went from lecture mode to fussing mode then back to lecture mode again the second Bond hauled his arse back to Q-Branch.)
[Prompt: Bond always returns his equipment + cant’ say no to Q.]
