Chapter Text
Bill Tanner’s first meeting with Q is a little peculiar - although at that time, he wasn’t yet Q and just one of many low-level computer technicians.
He’s heard the rumours about Q-Branch’s newest recruit, of course. For an organisation that’s meant to keep secrets, MI6 sure has its share of employees who like to gossip.
Boy genius is a term that gets thrown around a lot. They say he’s fresh out of uni - still has spots. Some claim he’d been caught hacking into MI6 databases and it was either work for Q-Branch, or spend the rest of his life in prison. Others claim he was somehow related to M, and some nastier rumours assert that he’s nothing special, just a young, pretty face who’d sucked off some people in power for the job.
Tanner just rolls his eyes. He’s not interested in gossip or speculation. Besides, as Chief of Staff, he’s mainly concerned with those who report directly to M. He doubts he will ever so much as encounter this odd new addition.
One day, he’s in the canteen, debating whether or not he actually wants to eat his sandwich, and when he looks up from his mobile, there’s a skinny, bespectacled lad with the most unkempt head of inky curls that he has ever seen standing there in front of him, clutching a cup of fragrant Earl Grey. Tanner isn’t that old - even if he is approaching middle age - but the boy makes him feel like he ought to retire on the spot. It takes him a few moments to remember that staring at someone with his mouth agape is not proper conduct.
“Can I help?” he inquires, although he does admit he is terribly confused.
“I...I’m sorry,” the boy stutters, cheeks flushing with embarrassment, “I just thought you looked nice, and...I wondered if perhaps I could sit with you.”
Tanner looks around. There’s people staring, whispering, pointing. You’d think people would be past all of that once their school days are over. He feels somewhat bewildered - and then a loud, jeering cat call directed at the boy comes from someone sitting nearby, and when Tanner sees the way the poor thing flinches, his bewilderment turns into some sort of righteous anger and he gives the offender a disapproving look.
“Of course you can sit here,” he tells the boy with a friendly smile, gesturing towards the empty seat across from him “Please.”
The boy looks relieved as he sits down. He reminds Tanner of a newborn deer, all big eyes and gangly limbs. He’s pretty, in a strange, innocent sort of way (but Tanner tries not to think about that).
“Bill Tanner,” he says, putting his hand out for a shake, “Chief of Staff.”
The boy shakes his hand cautiously, and says nothing. Tanner raises an eyebrow.
“Aren’t you going to tell me your name?”
“It doesn’t matter,” the boy says dismissively with a wave of the hand, “I’m nobody.”
Tanner’s not sure why, but it upsets him to hear the kid refer to himself as nobody. He’s always had some sort of instinct to protect and nurture. He supposes it’s just his nature, now that he’s married and has a baby daughter. He instantly wants to dissuade any notion of inferiority from this boy who he’s only just met.
“Don’t say that,” he tells him warmly, “Of course you’re somebody. Everyone is, and I'd like to know your name.”
“Smith,” the boy says finally, “Just Smith. I work in Q-Branch.”
It suddenly occurs to Tanner that this is the new recruit, the genius that everyone’s been talking about. All the gossip has made him into something of an oddity, Tanner supposes, and he does feel quite sorry for Smith. He must be terribly lonely.
“Out of curiosity, how old are you?” he asks.
Just as he expects, Smith’s face falls.
“Twenty,” he says uncomfortably. He knows his youth is a setback and will make him a subject of scorn.
But none of that matters to Tanner. It never has and it never will. He offers Smith half of his sandwich - skinny little thing could do with some more meat on his bones - and Smith happily accepts it. He doesn’t say it out loud, but the little look he gives Tanner from behind his thick spectacles tells him that he’s grateful that at least one person in this room doesn’t think he’s some sort of circus freak.
The rest, as they say, is history.
Tanner and Smith become fast friends. Tanner guides him through the world of espionage and silences anyone who still has the nerve to gossip about him, and in return, Smith is his anchor, always there to support him and keep his feet on the ground even in the most high-pressure situations.
They chat during lunch and Tanner often comes round Q-Branch to check on his progress and bring him a cup of tea. When he’s not busy, Smith spends his time in Tanner’s office, helping him fill out paperwork. They keep each other company during late nights in the office and share takeaway fish and chips. Smith goes from calling him “Sir,” to “Tanner,” and finally, just plain old “Bill.” They have a mutually beneficial relationship and develop a kind of closeness that Tanner has never had with anyone else in MI6, except perhaps with M - but the difference is that Smith doesn’t also terrify him, and what he has with M is more of a student-mentor relationship rather than a friendship on equal planes.
Tanner first witnesses the extent of Smith’s talent with technology when his mobile refuses to turn on one day. “Give it here,” Smith says, and he fixes the problem without even looking away from his Earl Grey. It turns out he can also disable a virus in just a few keystrokes and hack his way past the world’s most secure firewalls faster than Tanner can ask, “How on earth did you do that?”
On Smith’s birthday, they go out for drinks and get well pissed. Smith can barely walk in a straight line, and Tanner thanks the gods that his wife and the baby have gone to stay with granny for the weekend. Smith ends up spending the night at his flat. They watch old episodes of Blackadder until Smith passes out on the couch, and Tanner gingerly carries him to the bedroom, tucks him snugly in, and sleeps on the couch himself.
(Sometime later, after his second child is born, Tanner buys a nice house in the suburbs and moves his family out of the flat - a better place for his children to grow up than in the city, he thinks - and at the house-warming party his wife had insisted on having, he pretends that the suspicious look she is giving him as he chats to Smith is only a figment of his imagination.)
The quartermaster, Major Boothroyd - bless the old man - seems to take quite a shine to Smith, and makes him his personal assistant. If Boothroyd is impressed by his skills, then he really must be something.
One of his proudest achievements is when he writes up a code for failsafe protocols to protect sensitive files - they erase the computer’s memory when someone tries to access those files, and they are near impossible to get past. Major Boothroyd goes on and on about the brilliance of his protégé for weeks, and Tanner can’t help but feel immensely proud.
Not everyone is the same, of course. Tanner knows that there’s plenty of Q-Branch employees who despise Smith for his genius and would like nothing more than to strangle him his sleep. Others, especially the more senior members, continue to turn their noses up at his youth. Nothing Smith can do will ever make him their equal.
The backlash turns increasingly unpleasant. Gossip goes from curious to downright cruel. There are some who refuse to believe that Smith is here on merit. He must have slithered his way into Boothroyd’s favour with money - or, as the more prevalent story goes - slept with high-ranking officials.
Tanner wishes he could protect Smith from the jealousy and pettiness of these people, but he can’t always, and he somehow feels that he has failed him every time he hears Smith being none-too-subtly called a particularly nasty name, or when they find the word SLUT scrawled on a post-it note in angry red ink that has been stuck to Smith’s computer screen.
Tanner doesn't say much about it but is secretly furious - the gesture was completely unwarranted and Smith has done absolutely nothing to deserve it - but Smith bravely ignores these little things and soldiers on. Tanner admires him for it and does everything he can to support him. Let people think whatever they please. It won’t change anything - not his opinion on Smith, and certainly not Major Boothroyd’s.
Several years pass and Smith becomes well-acquainted with the workings of MI6. There’s still a number of employees who resent him, but the number has dwindled somewhat. Boothroyd lets him assist on even the most delicate and dangerous operations, and even has him run some missions on his own. He’s learned to design and create all sorts of useful weapons, which earns him quite a fearsome reputation.
One day, Smith is helping Major Boothroyd monitor 007’s mission in Turkey, and Tanner is there to help M handle comms. A valuable hard drive containing the identities of dozens of undercover agents has been compromised, and 007 is being sent to retrieve it. They already have a man on the case - Ronson - but he’s been moving far too slowly for M’s tastes. The stakes are dangerously high.
Then, the unthinkable happens.
“Agent down,” comes Miss Moneypenny’s shaking voice through the comms.
M’s features become frigid as she turns away. Tanner knows it’s hard for her. 007 had been a favourite of hers, in the same manner that Boothroyd is fond of Smith. He doesn’t blame her. Although obnoxiously arrogant and frustratingly destructive, James Bond is - or had been - one of MI6’s best and he and Tanner had been on friendly terms for a very long time.
Smith is badly shaken by the experience. He’s never met 007 before, but it’s the first time an agent has been killed on a mission that he has been involved in.
Bond’s death casts a dark gloom over MI6. Even the great 007 hadn’t been able to keep dodging death forever. He died unmarried and with no family to speak of. Tanner is the one to make the arrangements for the dead agent’s flat to be sold and belongings moved into storage. It is incredibly depressing, but at least he has Smith to lean on.
Surprisingly enough, things actually get worse from there.
The loss of Bond and the hard drive causes quite a bit of outrage in the government, and Tanner finds himself having to accompany M to a dreary meeting with some Gareth Mallory fellow. Honestly, he doesn’t see the point of coming along. He’s not made privy to the nature of their discussion, he just sits in the reception area and waits, and doesn’t ask about it when they’re finally on their way back to MI6 because he knows it’s not his place.
They’re halfway back to HQ when a message from Smith pops up on the screen of the laptop that he has perched in his lap - he really hates having to use it while they’re driving, it makes him rather carsick. Tanner scans the message quickly as M is glowering next to him.
Something is wrong. Someone’s managed to remotely access M’s computer and has hacked into the system.
Tanner is about to relay M’s command of “Shut it down” when the screen is suddenly filled by a strange cartoon of her, which quickly flashes into the rather macabre image of a grinning skull. Then the screen goes dark, save four words:
Think on your sins.
A chill runs down Tanner’s spine. He and M exchange glances. Neither of them have any idea what is going on or how this could have happened. Then, the car comes to an abrupt stop. Roadblock. Brilliant.
M steps out of the car to shout at some poor police officer, and Tanner scrambles out of the car after her. He wants to grab her and pull her back into the car and then give Smith a ring to make sure everything is all right because there’s a horrible nagging feeling in the pit of his stomach that tells him something is very, very, very wrong.
Everything feels remarkably cold when an explosion rips through the MI6 building in front of their very eyes. He feels utterly helpless as flames burst through the white concrete, black smoke billowing heavenward and debris scattering every which way.
Then the shock turns into full-blown panic.
Smith.
He’s yelling something to M, ears still ringing as they dash back towards the car. They drive straight through the police barricade and towards the smouldering remains of HQ. Tanner’s mind can’t process what is happening but all he is thinking that he has to make sure that Smith is all right.
As soon as they arrive, M shouts at him not to get near the crumbling building, but Tanner ignores her and runs straight in. She’ll scold him later, naturally, but he’ll worry about it when the time comes. The explosion hadn’t been big enough to destroy the entire building. It had been focused - Q-Branch was the target. He feels like he is going to be sick as he rushes up the staircase, which has been half-decimated by the blast. He stumbles into what remains of Q-Branch’s central office, falling over his own feet more than once. And then everything around him is on fire. He’s choking on the smoke and he can’t see anything.
He calls out Smith’s name until his throat is raw. Maimed corpses are strewn across the remnants of the room, blown to pieces. Tanner can’t even recognise any of them. He gags at the sight and nearly vomits on the spot. How many of these people - now no more than a mess of blood and burning flesh - had he known? With dread, he wonders if Smith is among them, scattered in bloody bits around Q-Branch.
No, he tells himself as he makes his way through the rubble, continuing to shout for him, No, I don’t accept that. He has to be all right. He has to.
“Bill?” comes a small voice weakly from somewhere towards his left. Tanner spins around, squinting through the smoke. He wants to cry with relief. He knows that voice.
Smith is sprawled on the ground, pinned in place by a large piece of rubble that is trapping his right leg. There is a large cut on his cheek, his spectacles are missing, and he is covered in ash, but he doesn’t look to be mortally injured, and Tanner thanks God for his mercy over and over again in his mind.
“Bill,” Smith croaks, ashy face streaked with tears, “Please...I can’t…”
“I’m here,” Tanner murmurs as Smith grasps frantically for his hand, “It’s all right, I’m here, I’ve got you.” He drops to his knees next to him and gets straight to work dislodging the chunk of what he guesses was formerly the ceiling that has Smith trapped. He strains and struggles - it’s far heavier than he expected. But it has to be moved, and it has to be moved now - the longer Smith is stuck here, the less likely he’ll be to make it out. More of the ceiling can collapse at any moment. He could asphyxiate on the smoke. A number of things could happen. But none of them will, not on Tanner’s watch. This is the thought that drives him on as he throws his entire weight against the piece of ceiling, pushing with all of his might.
Smith cries out in pain as the rubble is finally moved off of his leg. His ankle looks twisted at an unnatural angle. He won’t be able to walk. Without hesitating, Tanner removes his suit jacket and wraps Smith up in it before hoisting him onto his back. He carries him out of the crumbling building and to safety because he would do anything for him.
Smith isn’t badly hurt. A few days in the hospital will have him good as new in no time. Tanner visits him on every one of those days with tea and flowers to lift his spirits.
But others aren’t so lucky.
Major Boothroyd is among the dead.
Smith takes the news badly. Tanner is the one to tell him. It seems to suck the life right out of him.
“He knew,” Smith tells him quietly, “Major Boothroyd knew something terrible was going to happen. I was there, trying to help him trace the hack...and then suddenly, in the middle of everything, he had me drop what I was doing and sent me away. Told me to fetch him some lunch from the chippy down the street. He’d never done that before. I thought it was strange, but I didn’t ask any questions, and was on my way out of the office, when...when...”
He trails off miserably. Tanner realises Major Boothroyd could tell what was going to happen and had tried to protect Smith, hoping to spare him from the worst of the impending blast. Smith is looking at his hands, a blank, hollow look in his eyes. A classic portrait of survivor’s guilt.
He’s not a boy anymore, Tanner thinks. How could he be after this? He reaches out to take Smith’s hand in what he hopes is a comforting gesture. But he knows that things are going to change now.
MI6 is in a state of disarray. They move everything into an underground bunker for security reasons. Tanner is sad to leave his old office behind - his new one seems perpetually cold and damp and he swears he sees a rat scuttling across the ground when he’s moving in his boxes of supplies.
The now leaderless Q-Branch is like a chicken running around without a head. Nobody knows what they’re supposed to be doing. It needs a new quartermaster desperately, and M isn’t sure who to appoint to the position.
But Tanner is.
“How about Smith, ma’am?” he suggests as M looks through the Q-Branch employee files for potential candidates. “He’s brilliant. Boothroyd was grooming him to be his successor, anyway.”
“Smith?” M frowns, “Isn’t he a little young?”
“Maybe. But he’s talented and mature and beyond qualified. He knows how everything works. He’s even supervised his own missions before.”
M shakes her head. “No,” she says, “Too risky. We need someone who’s worked here longer.”
“I can assure you that you won’t find anyone more suited for the post than Smith,” Tanner insists, and M relents because she trusts his judgement.
Smith is no longer Smith after that. He becomes Q.
He settles into his new position with little difficulty and has Q-Branch almost entirely back on its feet in a day. Tanner can barely remember the frightened new recruit he’d met in the canteen years ago. It is incredible how quickly and efficiently Smith - no, Q - has everything organised and running smoothly. It’s as if he’s been doing this for decades already. All of the computer systems are set up and fully functional, and every employee under Q-Branch is back to work under his watchful eye.
He was born to be the quartermaster, Tanner thinks, and he couldn’t be prouder.