Chapter Text
Following Orders
Q looked at the brief he had been sent. He growled softly. M had informed the head of the TSS that he would attend the meeting in Scotland regarding intelligence gathering. It was stupid. He was too busy to waste his time meeting members of Whitehall to explain to them the intricacies of his job. There was an ongoing mission in Brazil and MI6 had two double ‘O’s out in the field. Testing on two new radio transmitters needed to be done for R and D. A new rifle needed beta testing. Finally, he was going to be sending 006 out to Latvia by the end of the week. He did not want to go to Scotland.
To top it all off, M had insisted on sending 007 as Q’s body guard. The operative was suspended from missions for four months after blowing up the Yemen embassy in Paris. It had been a bit excessive but Bond was after a terrorist who turned out to be the security chief for the ambassador.
It was completely ridiculous but Mallory felt Q need to be protected. Bond was available and been ordered to accompany Q to Scotland. Honestly, it wasn’t as if he was traveling far. He would still be in Great Britain. Now Q would be burdened with 007 as well as the idiots from Whitehall.
He heard the polite knock on the door. “Enter.”
The door opened and R, his second in command, walked in. The older woman was wearing her grey pencil skirt and tomato red blouse. Her hair was pulled back and held in a loose bun by a clip. R always had a knowing smile on her face, like a mother who always knew what kind of trouble her children were getting in to. Q appreciated the older woman. She had been his superior prior to his appointment as director. In fact, he was surprised to learn that she had nominated him for the position. Everyone believed R would follow Boothroyd as the head of the department after his death, but the fifty-eight year old woman recommended the younger and more creative Peter Wilson, to take the Major’s place.
Q glanced up at her as she entered and smiled. She placed a pile of folders on the corner of his desk. Q looked at the papers and sighed heavily.
“Why are we still using paper? Surely in 2016 we could be paperless.”
“Then think of all the file clerks who would be out of a job.” R said knowingly at Q. “They’re not overly important but you will need to take these with you and review them on your down time during between meetings.”
“Down time? This whole meeting is waste of my time. Why can’t we send TJ instead?” Q asked, frustrated.
“Because we need to impress the members of Whitehall, therefore maintain the flow of funds into MI6. And sending our very busy Quartermaster will impress them.”
Q rolled his eyes as R laughed softly at him. The two engineers heard a knock on the open door. 007 was standing in the open doorway watching the two of them.
“Good afternoon, James.” R said.
The blonde operative smile seductively at the older woman. She had been on the receiving end of many of his best moves only to simply ignore them. The double ‘O’s all regarded R with respect and affection. The type of affection one would have for their maiden aunt who would spoil them.
“R, my dear. When are you going to run away with me?” Bond purred at the older woman.
“When I lose all sense and reason.” She patted him on the shoulder as she left.
Bond’s smile remained on his lips until she left the room, then he turned back to the Quartermaster. The younger man ignored the operative and left Bond standing there for five minutes while he finished typing. He then sat and reviewed the report he had just written, occasionally editing his work. Bond remained perfectly still, forbidding himself to fidget as he waited. When Q had finished and electronically sent the report on to the executive branch, he looked up at Bond and sighed.
“I’m sure you’ve read through the brief. Nothing too complex for this mission.” Q said as he adjusted his glasses.
“Then why the need for a double ‘O’?” Bond asked barely keeping the sarcasm in check.
“Not my choice, 007. I was informed only a half hour before you. Apparently, M decided giving you a menial job would be more punishment than no work at all. Or maybe he felt that you being in Scotland would be safer for London while you consider the long term ramification to Foreign Relations when you go blowing up embassies around the world. I believe this isn’t the first time you’ve neglected to acknowledge the sovereignty of such establishments.”
“Where is the meeting at?” Bond pointedly ignored Q’s jab. He moved closer to the Quartermaster’s desk.
“Didn’t you read . . . of course you didn’t . . . Gleneagles in Scotland. I believe it is supposed to be nice.” Q closed his laptop and stood up. He stepped around Bond and walked out into the bull pen of TSS. “There is to be a meeting between the various members of the intelligence gathering organizations of Great Britain. MI6 and 5, Military Intelligence and members of Whitehall. I am supposed to attend too. Bloody waste of my time.” Q hissed. When he arrived to his station in the center of TSS, he powered up the computer and began typing. “I’m too busy to waste my time with a bunch of bureaucrats who want to golf.”
“We must all follow our orders.” The corner of Bond’s mouth twitched up in subtle curve. He wondered if he could get a few rounds in. It had been a long time since he had be free enough to play golf.
Q twisted around and looked up at Bond over the frames of his glasses.
“Oh, of course you would play golf.” Q sighed again in exasperation. “Be ready to pick me up at six tomorrow morning. We have a long drive to Scotland.”
Bond smiled at the younger man. Q knew that the operative was up to something.
~Q~
To say that Gleneagles in Scotland was superb would be an understatement. The suite assigned to Q and Bond was elegant and sumptuous. The windows looked out over the manicured golf course and forests. The sitting room was furnished in comfortable yet sophisticated chairs and couches. The bedrooms were decorated in tartans and had private ensuites. Bond wandered through the suite, checking every room and admiring the marbled bathroom with the deep two person tub. Q noticed the twitch to the corner of Bond’s mouth.
Bond came back out into the sitting room to see Q spreading out his computer and several file folders on the dining table. The young man looked around the suite then sat down at table, turning the computer on.
“Bond, see if you can find the water kettle and fix me a cuppa.” Q said as he studied the computer screen.
“I believe room service would be more than happy to provide tea for you.”
Q just hummed and ignored the man. He started typing quickly as his eyes followed the lines of code. Bond watched the young man work for few moments. Then he collapsed on the soft sofa propping his feet up on the arm of the couch. He propped a pillow behind his head and started to study the young Quartermaster.
“The other members of the conference probably arrived last night. The first meeting will be at four this afternoon. You should probably take a nap now.” Q said without looking up from his computer.
“Are you making an assertion about my age?” Bond’s voice had a sharpness to it.
“Never, my dear agent. I just don’t like being stared out while I’m working.”
“I’m just enjoying the view.” Bond said. The younger man saw a sly smile slip over Bond’s face before it disappeared. The agent was up to something.
“I believe the golf course is out of the window behind you.”
“Yes and a lovely view is in front of me.”
Q sat up straight and stared at the man. Q did a quick calculation in his head. It had been two and half weeks since Bond had returned from France. In that time he had not gotten into any reportable trouble. The agent was obviously planning to do something. Something that Q feared he would be in the center of.
“Tea . . . Earl Grey . . . three sugars.” Q returned to his typing.
The young man was lost in his work when the delicious scent of warm sweet tea brought him back to the elegant suite in the Scottish Highlands. Q looked down to see the cup of Earl Grey steaming beside his computer. He smiled. Then he felt the presence of someone standing right behind his chair. The subtle push and the brush of someone’s breathe over his skin. The sudden surge of fear rushed through Q’s body. The need to flee.
“Tell me your name . . .” Bond’s voice was deep and near Q’s ear.
“It’s classified.” The young man tried to sit still. His muscles tensed.
“Tell me your name . . .”
Q’s skin puckered with goose flesh. Bond’s voice was sweeping over the younger man like a wave forcing every fiber in his body to run. The whole scene was throwing the man into conflict. Q closed his eyes.
“Why?”
“I want to know what I will be whispering in your ear later tonight . . .”
Bond’s breathe was warm across the skin of Q’s neck. The young man shivered but not from cold. The two men had flirted since they had first met, but Q never considered Bond to be actually interested in the computer geek.
“Peter . . .”
Q turned to look into Bond’s face, but the blonde was already backing up and moving away. Apparently, Bond’s entertainment during this conference would be driving Q to distraction.
~Q~
The fourth floor conference room was a contrast to the rest of Gleneagles ambiance. Where the hotel and spa had the grandeur of Victorian estate. The conference rooms were more modern and efficient, while still maintaining a sophistication and affluence.
There was a large table in the center of the soundproof room. A thick royal blue carpet and pale grey walls. The drapes were blackout curtains, preventing any light from slipping around them, allowing for the best viewing of any visual material. The chairs were leather and wide to accommodate even the most overweight executives.
The large oak table had six seats spaced out around it. Each seat had a packet with information and reports for the attendees to read and review at their own convenience. Each seat also had an individual pitcher of water and crystal tumbler, IPad with connection to the audio-visual system in the room, and a name placard.
Around the edge of the room were more chairs, for the assistants and underlings and . . . body guards of the members of the conference.
Q took the seat with the placard that read, ‘Peter Wilson, Quartermaster, MI6’. Bond looked at the placard with Q’s name on it. If Q’s name really was classified, then the members attending this meeting were important enough to know the man’s name. Bond sat down in the chair behind Q and started to study each and every person who entered the room.
Q opened the report in front of him. He glared at another paper report that he would need to keep track of. He wondered how difficult would it be for him to convince these idiots to move to video conferences.
The other members started to take their seats. Q recognized Max Denbigh from MI5 and Francis Urquhart, the Conservative Whip. Q looked back down at the agenda for the meeting when he heard the door open. He didn’t lift his head but glanced at the man who was walking in. Unlike the other participants, this man had a young woman working as his assistant. Her head was down as she was texting on a Blackberry.
Q looked up further. Expensive grey wool suit with pale blue pin-strips. A matching grey brolly. Q felt his heart constrict. He looked up further. Pale skin, patrician nose, auburn hair. He didn’t need to see the face.
Q stood quickly and moved as fast as he could towards the door. Bond watched confused but rose to follow his Quartermaster.
“Please let us get started . . . everyone take your seats.” The man in the grey suit said in precise public school diction.
Q froze when he heard the familiar voice. He struggled to take the next step but he did.
“Quartermaster? . . . Peter Wilson, please sit down so we can finish this meeting as quickly as possible. I am needed elsewhere.”
Bond had reached Q’s shoulder and reached out and touched the young man’s arm. Q turned slightly to look at Bond. The operative could see the fear in Q’s eyes. Bond reached for the gun in his shoulder holster but Q touched his hand and stopped him. The young man shook his head and his dark curls tossed side to side.
“Please, Quartermaster . . . you are wasting everyone’s time.” The man in the grey suit said.
Q slowly turned and looked Mycroft Holmes in the face. The auburn hair man took in a sudden shaking breath.
“Sherrinford . . .” He glanced again at the placard in front of Q’s seat. “Ah . . . Peter Wilson . . . how could you be so thoughtless!?”
The two men stared at each other in silence. Then Mycroft Holmes snapped his fingers. His assistance jumped to her feet.
“Will everyone please leave the room.” The woman said in an assertive voice.
The men sitting around the table looked confused and started to mumble amongst themselves.
“You’ve been told to leave.” Holmes said sharply.
The other people in the room started to file out quickly, but Q and Bond remained where they were standing. Several of the attendees stared at Q but the young man didn’t acknowledge them.
When the three men were alone, Mycroft Holmes spoke. “Send your guard away.”
“With all due respect, sir. No.” Bond said his hand now possessively resting on Q’s shoulder. Bond moved to place himself between Holmes and his Quartermaster.
“Bond, no . . . it is okay.” Q said in defeated voice.
“Q? . . . I am here as your body guard and I will do so regardless what orders you give me.”
“Sherrinford, you thoughtless selfish little child . . . did you not stop and think what damage you would do!” Mycroft snapped at Q.
“Sherrinford? What is Holmes talking about, Q?” Bond asked remaining between the two men.
“That’s my name . . . Sherrinford Holmes. Mycroft Holmes is my brother.”
“And Sherrinford Holmes, has been dead for fifteen years.”