Chapter Text
“I thought he’d died,” Nathan — no, it’s Q now, bloody hell — says to Miss Moneypenny.
"So did we all,” she responds, “But he showed up at M’s house in the middle of the night and is downstairs now taking his requalifying exams. I have to admit, I’m rather pleased to give up the title ‘Bond-killer’. Nothing like taking out a literal legend — accidentally — to kill your chances of being trusted by any of the double-ohs.”
"'Legend’ seems a bit overblown,” Q remarks.
"Have you read his file?”
"I’ve had enough on my plate without reading a dead man’s file.”
She tips her head in acknowledgement. “He’s pulled off some remarkable feats in his years as a double-oh. It usually comes with a swath of destruction a mile wide, but he gets his targets, and dodges their bullets… for the most part.” She sighs, “I’m fortunate they found a desk job for me.”
"Perhaps now they’ll reconsider you for field work,” Q supplies helpfully. Or at least he’s trying to be helpful. Miss Moneypenny seems spooked by Bond’s near-death experience, but Q has reviewed the files, checked the maps, and examined the digital elevation models for the area, noting the difficulty of the shot. The fact that Miss Moneypenny could hit anything at that distance and angle speaks to a skill that they’d be ill-advised to hide behind a desk, in his humble opinion. Especially now that they’re down several agents, thanks to the explosion that brought about his promotion. He’ll have to think of some way to restore her confidence.
"Perhaps,” she says, “but Bond and the others are hesitant to trust new agents until they’ve proven themselves… It’s a bit of a power play. I don’t know which is worse: having the reputation of killing him, or having him back to regale everyone with tales of my incompetence. I’ve dug myself a hole that will take some time to climb out of, and Bond’s presence is more of a reminder than his absence was. Besides, I’m happy to support from behind the scenes for the time being.” She adjusts her jacket over her pencil skirt, assuring everything is in place. “Shall I send Bond down to you when he’s finished with his qualifiers?”
”No…” Q answers, looking around at the absolute disaster that is the current state of Q Branch, and how Bond is likely to respond to his new Quartermaster amidst such disarray. The double-ohs deal in power plays, do they? Perhaps he’d best start that way as well. “I’ll meet him off campus.” Q pulls up a browser at his station and runs a quick search. After a moment, he pulls up his own calendar and enters an appointment with details copied to Miss Moneypenny for processing.
"What are you up to?” she asks, looking over his shoulder. If she recognizes the painting, it’s not obvious, but she’s clearly noticed that Q is being very specific.
"Making sure that Bond and I get off on the right foot,” Q responds. “Or at least that I retain some upper hand. You’ll make sure he’s there?”
“Yes,” she says with a gleam in her eye, “but I’ll want a full and unofficial debrief afterwards.”
Q gives her a smile. They’re going to be friends, he thinks.
Hours later, when he’s prepped everything for Bond’s mission and has a bit of time before the meeting, he pulls up the satellite imagery and digital elevation model from the Istanbul mission and calculates how far the agent fell into the water below the bridge.
That can’t be right.
He calculates it again, and then the distance downriver to the port town where Bond allegedly recovered while playing dead.
How the bloody hell had he survived that?