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Q had a long list about why a team building exercise was a bad idea. Number one on that list was that most of MI6 was gathered in one place where they could all be taken out one by one, but M insisted that wasn’t a real point because there were also double oh present there as well as actual security. Which actually brought them to number two on said list: what if they needed to quickly dispatch the agents to stop some sort of apocalypse?
“I am very sure that will not be the case, Quartermaster,” the MI6 head said slowly, the man glancing at Tanner to see if he knew why Q was acting so strangely. “And we have in place the protocols you yourself created, so I am sure that everything will be okay.”
Of course Q knew that wasn’t going to happen for real, but the equipment they had strapped on him was too heavy, the paint gun didn’t look trustworthy and he really didn’t want to sweat off those precious kilograms he had finally managed to put on him because of all the running and dodging he was expected to do.
But he wasn’t going to admit to being that superficial, so his overly paranoid list also contained the very abstract and almost completely impossible scenario in which his protocols backfired and ended up with them being screwed even more. He was, after all, the Quartermaster and when he came up with a plan, he thought of a million ways that plan wouldn’t work.
He opened his mouth to explain in as much detail as possible to M how that would work, hoping to either get through the man or annoy him so much that he would be ordered back to headquarters, but double oh bloody seven had to sneak his arm around him and pull him away before he could put his great plan into action.
“So I was thinking,” bloody Bond was saying, leaning so close to him that Q was honestly surprised their lips weren’t touching , “that it would be simply wonderful for the double oh with the best target scores to team up with the boffin who somehow manages to miss his target even when it’s ten centimetres away?”
It wouldn’t hurt the agent if he at least tried not to sound so smug when he was talking about this, especially since Q was saving, covering and protecting his ass - from both his enemies and the MI6 accounting department who was out for his blood - on every bloody mission he was sent on.
But ignoring that, Q also had a tiny problem when it came to the man. He liked him. More than as a colleague and, sadly for him, more than as a friend. Gender wasn’t a problem when James was involved and Q had long since accepted that he tended to lean more towards the company of men than women. The real problem was that James tended to prefer one night stands over actual relationships whereas Q was a relationship kind of guy.
Sure, they flirted all the time, but James did that with everyone. He wasn’t going to get his hopes up and end up becoming another notch in the man’s bedpost even if both R and Eve pointed out that James was more aggressive with Q, touched him more than anyone else he wasn’t sleeping with and they even claimed that he had dumped the very gorgeous Julia and superb Miranda when he heard Q needed help with something.
So what if those two gave him the stink for the next three months after the supposed incident whenever they bumped into the cafeteria? So what if he actually overhead James scolding them for acting so rude to him? It didn’t mean anything.
“Would wonders never cease 007?” He grabbed James’ arm from around his shoulders and struggled to get it off of him, failing miserably. And James grinned and held him tighter, winking at him and rubbing his shoulder, somehow managing to get into his personal space even more. “You? Actually thinking? It’s already starting to smell like a barbecue in here and you might also get a rather bad headache.”
He was expecting James to snort and move away from him because this is where this type of game between them stopped. The regaining of personal space would also be followed by some quip about how real life isn’t like video games where he could punch in a code and have everything go on easy mode.
But it seemed to have slipped Q’s mind that this was James Bond, 007, the agent who always did the exact opposite of what you expected him to do, so of course he managed to stump the Quartermaster when he lowered his voice and started to whisper in his ear all the while playing with his hair.
“Well, my beloved Quartermaster, you are a good influence on me. So, how about you let me influence you back and team up with me for this little team-building exercise or whatever? I guarantee you that not even a single strand of your luscious, wild brown hair will get touch by a drop of paint if you wrap your arms around me and hide your head in the crook of my neck.”
Q moved his weapon on his other shoulder, satisfied when he hit James in the face with it. If only he could accidentally hit him with the weapon a couple more times until the man let him go, he would be so happy. “I am afraid that I might get drunk as well if I sit that close to you, agent. Because you must be drunk if you think I’d agree to do any of that.”
James could be accused of being careless with himself, with his equipment, of being ignorant when it came to personal space and a bit of a peacock, but never of being the type of person who gave in too fast or backed away from a challenge. Which Q, much to his horror, realized that was what he had just become – he hoped that the challenge stopped at him practically cuddling him in the middle of this exercise.
So of course the agent pushed the weapon away a bit and grinned at him, holding him tighter while drumming his fingers a bit too close to Q’s behind for his liking. “Then you can cling to my back and whisper instructions in my ear with that deep, baritone voice of yours.”
Q sighed and rolled his eyes, moving his elbow with the intention of hitting James in the stomach and maybe even stomp on his expensive shoes. That would surely dislodge the man from him and Q could powerwalk away from him before Gossip Central saw them so close and started coming up with all sort of scenarios that would occupy his minions’ minds at the worst time possible.
What happened instead was that Q somehow managed to touch the trigger in such a way that the gun shot out the painful bullets of paint. James, being the cocky bastard, hadn’t exactly finished suiting up so when he was hit in the groin, he surely saw all the stars in the universe flash in front of his eyes alongside his long life.
He didn’t shout and he didn’t cry. He simply dug his fingers in Q and slowly started to slide down, breathing heavily. Even Q needed a moment to realize what had happened, but when he did, he was on his knees next to the wounded agent instantly.
“I honestly didn’t mean to shoot you,” he said quickly, unsure of where he should place his hands. His instinct demanded that he touch the wound, but he wasn’t going to shove his hands down a Casanova’s pants in the middle of the day when their boss and the rest of their co-workers were only a few feet away from them.
“I am fine. I just need a moment.” James coughed and held tighter to Q which only made the man panic even more.
He had read articles of people dying from getting hit there and, despite having promised James on multiple occasions that he would be the one to end his existence, he didn’t actually want to do that. And this had to be the most ridiculous and insulting way a double oh agent could die so technically speaking, Q would end up killing him twice.
“I’m getting a doctor, hold on.” He didn’t get to bolt away because James was fast even when hurt so he easily snatched his arm and tripped him, resting his body on top of his. At least Q had his paintball uniform on so his clothes wouldn’t get ruined by the still wet paint.
“I really need just a minute over here, Q.” James voice was a pitch higher than usual and he still had a hard time breathing properly. “And don’t say anything about this being normal for my age and that you know of a pill that’s going to fix everything because I will shove my tongue down your throat.”
If that was supposed to get Q to stop struggling, it didn’t work. It actually did the exact opposite, Q sneaking one leg between James’ and moving his knee dangerously close to the already affected area.
“Do that and I will make sure you really won’t be able to ever have children as well as bite your tongue off.” He bared his teeth and tried to get into a position that would make it easier to get up, knee accidentally brushing against James’ tights while something poked Q in the side.
“And just how much of a bloody idiot are you? M said to leave all of your weapons with the secondary agents just so you don’t end up accidentally shooting my minions or yourselves.” Funny, the gun seemed to grow in size…
James placed a hand on the back of Q’s head, moving his lips to his ear. “Q, that’s not a weapon. I actually listened to M this time.”
That managed to stop Q’s struggling, his eyes darting around to make sure that no one was looking for them or at them. “How the bloody hell did that happen, Bond? Do you get off on pain? Is that why you keep pushing me to the point of wanting to hit you with my laptop over that empty head of yours?” Q hissed right in James’ ear.
James parted his legs and shivered, turning his head to the side. “Look, it isn’t like that. But you are above me, your legs touching zones they shouldn’t and I am only human.” He hugged Q harder when he felt him start to struggle again, applying pressure to a point just above his hips to still him. “That’s not helping!”
“Well let me get up already!” He pushed his hand in James’ face, trying to use that to push himself on his knees so he could jump away from him. “I’ll get you a medic and then you can get that out of your system.”
“Are you off—UGH!” He rolled to the side when Q actually pushed his knee against his groin, taking the man with him. “Please stop doing that unless you really plan on killing me.” He rested his head on top of Q’s and took a few deep breaths, finally managing to regain control of his breathing.
“Dreadfully sorry, Bond. Lost control of my leg when you opened your mouth. I guess I simply cannot control myself when that happens.” The sarcasm was obvious in his voice and the strangled sound that came from James gave him a lot of pleasure.
Five minutes later and Q was still under James, drumming his fingers against the ground and thanking whatever deity watched over him that no one had discovered them like this. He would be even more grateful if there wasn’t a part of him that wanted to simply roll on his back, wrap his legs around James’ waist and grunt in his ear that he was ready, but he couldn’t really control every aspect of his life. Especially not who he desired - but seriously, why Bond? Why not Alexis from accounting? Or Gerard from Internal?
“Did you regain your stamina enough for us to limp over to the course or should I resign to living out the rest of my life under you?” Q winced when he realized what he had said, but James did little more than hum. Thank God for little miracles.
“Are you really going to let me run the course or are you just saying that to get free so you could drag me to car and stick me in medical?” James asked, his lips right on Q’s ear, his warm breath giving him goose bumps.
“We will run the course together, or at least half of it.” He managed to wiggle a hand out from under him and rearrange his glasses, annoyed about how unfocused the world was around him. “Tanner set up a first aid tent right in the middle just in case the double oh agents got too serious about everything. Our objective is getting there without any more injuries done to your or your giant ego.”
“So this means you agree to partner up with me?” Q nodded and James was on his feet in an instant, dragging Q up after him and giving him a pained smile. How the bloody agent managed to move so fast although he was in a lot of pain was beyond Q’s capabilities as a human to understand.
By the time Q was done putting their names on the list, mentioning to Tanner that it would be preferred if they worked as a team – and dusting himself off while Eve was grinning like a maniac and M pretended not to notice just how ruffled the Quartermaster looked – James had managed to dress himself in the appropriate gear and was leaning against a tree, chatting a few women up.
Q assumed that he was going to have a hard time dragging the man away from his adoring fans - traitors, all of them; he was going to have them code popup blockers for at least three months - but all he really had to do was grumble James’ name. Let it not be said that James had bad hearing because he was by his side in an instant, checking to be sure that his armour was properly tied on him and that his weapon had the safety on.
“I should have checked your weapon the instant you got it, Quartermaster. But at least you shot me and not yourself. You are so skinny that I am really afraid one of these paintball might pass right through you, like an actual bullet.” He ruffled Q’s hair, shocking everyone around them.
“I admit that I was partially at fault for not checking to see if the safety was on, but you are more to blame than me since you have no idea what personal space is, agent.” Q tried to sound unaffected, but his voice came out much softer than he would have wanted and he was painfully aware that the tips of his ears were red.
James smirked and leaned closer, moment in which the world fell silent around them and people quickly left the area. Q didn’t know if he should be grateful for that or prepare to send a meticulous e-mail in which he explained that nothing was going on between them. “I can’t help it if I want to make your personal space into our personal space.”
Q pinched the bridge of his nose because, really. James hadn’t just said that. Q refused to believe that the man, their top agent, the man who got secrets out of queens of ice just by winking at them, the very same agent he had the hots for, had uttered the single most horrifyingly lame line in the entire universe. “If I were to make a top ten of the lamest things you said in your life, Bond, this one would easily get the top spot”
“My apology, Quartermaster. I did not mean to insult you in such a way.” He bowed in the most dramatic way possible, raising his voice for all to hear. “I promise that I will find one good enough to knock you off your feet right into my bed by the end of this day.”
Q rolled his eyes and turned around, hitting James over the face with his weapon. “The world will end before you manage to talk me in your bed, agent.”
He realized too late that he had basically issued a challenge, but Q was sure the man would back off if he was told. James did have a sense of self-preservation, a small one, but it was still there. He wasn’t going to screw up an almost perfect work relationship just because he wanted to prove a point. Well, at least he hoped.
“You never know, Q. You never know. The world might end with us in the bed, too busy to notice what’s going on around us.” He winked and Q opted to keep silent, only allowing the man to sneak his arm around his middle because he assumed he was in pain.
He didn’t understand why so many agents gave them the proverbial stink eye when he and James were announced as an official team. There had been ample time for everyone to walk up to him and ask to be paired off with him between the ride from MI6 and when James cornered him. It wasn’t as if he was going to turn any of them down since he got along with everyone.
Of course they turned out be a great team, even if James was wounded and their roles had pretty much been switched. The agent spotted an enemy, said one word, and Q took them out with a single shot. It they were jumped on, James simply pushed Q down, covered him with his body and shot the double oh in the face, the other teammate throwing his gun away the instant James seemed to turn his attention to him.
“I am surprised,” James said after having his lap covered in ice, the nurse not even bothering to hide her laughter as she left the two alone in the first-aid tent. “You have the worst scores in the agency and yet, you were almost 100% accurate in your shots.”
The thing was, Q had been really horrible at shooting when he had first started out as a Quartermaster. His hands shook when he aimed, he dropped the gun twice after squeezing the trigger, and he also cracked his glasses as well as managed to give himself a black eye because the recoil pushed the weapon right in his face.
After that incident, he ended up with a private instructor shoved down his throat. And the man assured Q that he wasn’t a lost cause. He knew how to hold a gun, he’d seen him when he tested the ones he had finished modifying for the agents. He simply had a mental block when it came to shooting a gun for himself, probably created out of Q’s hatred of getting his own hands dirty or thinking that he could kill someone.
After two weeks with the man, the real shooting scores which were only accessible to Q, Tanner, and M had the young Quartermaster right under the double ohs. Q had requested that those scores stay hidden and that he’d be allowed to continue the whole horrible shooter just to have any possible inside attackers have their guard down if he was the one who had the weapon pointed at them.
“Just a few lucky shots, agent, and nothing more.” And it was Q who had the smug look on his face this time, arms crossed on his chest and head tilted slightly back.
James snorted, picking up an ice cube from his lap - one that hadn’t touched his skin - and dropping it down Q’s shirt. “Miracle shots or magical bullet, more likely. I say the two of us need to meet in private so you can show me just what you can actually do with something firm and sleek in your hands.” He dodged the ice cube that was thrown back at his head and grabbed Q’s hand, pulling him in his lap.
This was too much, even for their strange relationship. And the agent definitely crossed that invisible and unspoken like the two had between them when James started to nuzzle his neck, nimble and experienced fingers easily popping open the armour’s buttons.
“What the bloody hell is wrong with you today, Bond? You’ve been acting strange all day today. Are you sick or something?” He grabbed a thermometer off the table and tried to shove it in the man’s mouth, nails digging in the side of his neck to get him to sit still.
James growled and finally gave in, wrapping his lips around the thing and allowing Q to hop off of his lap, but still held on to his hand to keep him from running out of the tent. “I am perfectly fine, minus a very strange case of blue balls.” He needed to talk fast because Q was getting ready to call for security. “I overheard someone planning on asking you out for dinner so I bullied my way into being your partner.”
Q blinked very slowly, feeling a headache coming on. This was, by far, the strangest thing James had done. Stranger than that time he had walked around his branch for an entire day with a green bow tied around his middle until Eve pulled him aside and whispered something that got him to practically run out of there.
Maybe James was the only man to really have his brain in the neither regions and Q had managed to give him severe brain damage. “I am sorry… I think I misheard you basically telling me that you cockblocked me.”
“A crude term that I dislike, but yes.” He took a deep breath and tugged Q a closer to him, placing a sloppy kiss on his knuckles. “I overhead someone who is so your type you’d swear he was me minus the danger, the wit, and the charm asking R for pointers about how to go about asking you out.”
“You are not my type, Bond. In fact, you are everything but my type.” He glanced at the door, nibbling on his lower lip. Their hands were wet and James’ hold on him wasn’t too tight. If he moved fast, he could grab the nurse and the doctor and order them to do a full blood analysis on James to see under what drug’s influence he was on.
James snorted. “Love, I know this goes against our very beings since we are spies, but let’s be honest.” And shame on you, Q, for having a heart that skips a beat when that term is directed at you. “All your past boyfriends and girlfriends have been blond, blue eyed, had a well-toned boy, and tended to live dangerously.”
“How did you—“
“Don’t insult yourself by asking me that, you know perfectly well how,” James interrupted, squeezing Q’s hand. “You also clearly prefer me above all other double oh agents because you bend the rules for me and allow me to disappear in the middle of a mission, give me and only me the guns you yourself made as well as ensure that I have the latest gadgets you created in the field.”
He hadn’t been actively aware of doing that, but now that he thought about it, James had always been the first agent to receive a new gadget after being tested for bugs to hell and back. But now that it had been pointed out to him, he would make sure to never go that extra mile for him and to cease giving him guns that he had personally improved them. He wouldn’t start sticking to the rules because James’ plans, chaotic and dangerous as they were, always worked.
“And you can’t imagine how good that makes me feel,” James muttered, tugging Q close enough to rest his head against his chest and wrap his arms around him. “To know that you’d prefer me over so many others who are younger and less damaged than me… An old gun that’s full of scratches and whose trigger gets stuck every now and then, and yet you cover it in your love and care.”
Q had wrapped his own arms around James, head rested on top of his. He knew the agent was speaking the truth, his voice no more than a murmur that lacked his usually cockiness and the light teasing tone it usually had. It tugged at Q’s heart strings and made him feel very special because a double oh agent never showed that he had weaknesses, especially not to someone who could easily order him out of the field.
Actually, if it were any other agent, Q would be sure everything was an act. But it was James, the agent which whom he had spent countless hours on the coms, watching his every move through the security cameras scattered around all over the world, seen him and heard him when he played a role and this was not it. This was the first time since the old M’s death that he sounded so small and sincere.
“I know I have no business sticking my nose in your personal life, Q, but trust me when I tell you that you’d get so incredibly bored if you give that guy a chance. Not to mention that he is a coward, running out of the room when I asked him what he wanted to do with you.” His hold on him increased to the point where Q had to gasp for air before he realized what he was doing, quickly apologizing and running his hand down Q’s chest.
“You constantly compare me to all sorts of sticks, berate me on the coms in front of my minions when one of them lets slip that I had skipped lunch and yet, in person, you treat me like you treat your gadgets.” He said teasingly, surprised when James moved back to kiss his palm, apologizing again.
“It might mean nothing, but I treat you better than that. Better than anything and anyone else that’s in my life.” He kissed Q’s wrist this time, pulling him closer so he could continue kissing up his arm. “So, before that fool gathers his wits and stutters through an invitation, can I persuade you to give this old navy ship a run?”
Someone snickered and they both turned to glare at the tent’s entrance, finding Eve. She held her hands up in an apologetic manner, but they suspected she was sorrier that she didn’t have her phone to film everything than anything else.
“I see that M was worried for naught. You two are doing just fine on your own. Now, shall we all go ahead of you two or does the Quartermaster wish me to send security?” She easily dodged the ice cubes Q threw her way, clutching at her chest in a dramatic way. “He’s such a horrible influence on you, Q.”
James jumped on his feet, the ice rolling off his lap and took a step towards Eve. She was gone from the tent’s door instantly, her light laughter echoing around the sort of camp and Q groaned, hiding his face in the palm of his hands.
“At least now no one will try to steal your attention from me,” James whispered, wrapping a towel around his hips before moving to hold Q. “Now, about my dinner invitation?”
“If you try anything funny, I will zap your balls off,” Q said seriously and James laughed, running his hands down Q’s back. “And this night will not end with me in your bed, so if you’re looking for a quick release, you are barking up the wrong tree.”
“My willowy man, I plan on ending every night with you in my bed and starting every day to your light snoring.” He pinched Q’s nose when he saw how insulted the man looked. “You dozed off after a mission and the coms were still on; you snore.”
“I don’t snore,” Q snapped, pulling away from James. “My sinuses might have been blocked that time or there was some static, because I never snore.”
“Well, I guess you’ll have to prove that to—OUCH!” He was on his knees, hands in front of his groin, groaning. “Q, can you please kick my calves until further notice? I really don’t intend on starting up my career as a soprano. I don’t have the lungs for it.”
“Keep saying dumb things and you won’t have the balls required to be a double oh.”