Chapter Text
‘The New Quartermaster Is Sketchy’
Chapter 1; The Unwanted Promotion
Once the dust of any conflict settles, clarity often follows.
When Vauxhall Cross was blown up, so was most of MI6. In fact, the damages had been so devastating that none of the TSS survived.
Very few of TSS survived.
In fact, only a total of seven TSS members survived– it was the skeleton crew of the night shift as well as a single dayshift hacker that had been sent home because of his tendency to stay in TSS beyond his working hours for one reason or another.
Q had been sent home in the early hours of the morning by Major Boothroys, the Quartermaster at the time.
Normally, Boothroyd didn’t mind that his young ‘apprentice’ stayed long past his working hours but overtime had been starting to add up and with the already meagre budget TSS got in recent years, Boothroyd sent Q away for a ‘well deserved vacation’.
That ‘well deserved vacation’ had saved his life.
It was the only reason Q hadn’t been present when the building got blown to pieces.
—----
“Stop that, Bit.” Q warned as the black haired furball leaped on top of his keyboard. “If you mess up your code I will be limiting your snacks going forwards.”
Bit meowed in Q’s face at the offence of scolding the cat. Scratch was somewhere in the kitchen, causing his own patch of mayhem there.
For a moment, Q wondered just why his cats were being as noisy as they were, then he realised it was time for their breakfast and the automatic feeder had not made its usual noise despite it being 9.36 am.
Groaning quietly, Q picked his naughty kitten up and carried him to the kitchen where Scratch was pitifully meowing and scratching the automatic feeder.
“Let’s see what’s wrong then.” Q muttered, looking at the home-made device.
It could be something in the code– or perhaps a wire that got damaged. The timer seemed to be in working order, as did the system which would estimate the amount of food needed for two cats.
Frowning, Q looked over everything again but couldn’t quite make out where the error was. Until he checked the place the food was kept in. Empty. Of course. Letting out a deep breath, Q moved to the cabinet where he stored food.
The bag was much too light, it was barely enough but it would do for now. Letting out a breath, Q pursed his lips as he fed his cats and disposed of the empty bag.
He needed to get groceries. Q hated getting groceries. Usually he would order it in but he had forgotten to place the order and knew he needed food for himself and his cats. Hence a spontaneous and unwanted shopping trip.
Pulling on his coat, Q pocketed his cigarettes and lighter before stepping outside. It was cold but not freezing yet. Early December usually meant snow but so far it had only been raining so far. Q was glad for it. While he didn’t like rain, he preferred it over snow any day.
Pulling the door of his apartment complex shut, Q pulled out a cig and lit it before taking a long drag.
The closest grocery store was a 10 minute walk away, either that or a three minute walk to an Underground followed by a five minute ride– it was quicker if he got to the Underground station the moment the metro arrived.
Considering the time, he would make it if he walked a little faster than he otherwise would. Finishing his cig, Q took the stairs down and hopped on the train just before the doors slid closed.
Observing the other passengers for a moment, Q found an empty seat and sat down for the short trip he needed to take.
When he got to his stop, Q got out, headed up to street level and moved to the store to buy his stuff. Some food, some tea and cat food. Q frowned at the price of the few items he was buying but paid it and bagged his stuff.
When he got out, police cars with sirens rushed past, heading towards the Thames. Q’s eyes followed them as they passed.
Not even a moment later, Q’s phone rang.
“Q speaking.” He announced as he held the phone up to his ear as he headed back to the tube.
“ Q, glad to have caught you, ” Boothroyd. “ I need some help. Are you near your computer? ”
The Quartermaster sounded stressed. “No, I am out on an errand run. Do you want me to come in? I can probably reach Vauxhall within ten minutes?”
“ No, don’t bother. ” The Major replied, “ We are experiencing an emergency. If anything, you stay home and you keep your head down. Lock up and wait until I– ”
The line was cut off.
Q frowned as he looked at his phone. That was… odd. Calling Boothroyd, Q’s brow furrowed as his call was immediately met with an ‘number not found’ message.
That was trouble.
But orders were orders. Keep your head low and wait for further instruction. Q felt a little more wary as he hopped on the tube train and anxiously tapped against his grocery bags until he could get off again.
He quickly headed home, up to his apartment and locked himself in.
The second he set his bags down, Bit and Scratch were all over them. Q nudged them away as he started to put his belongings away.
Then another call came in.
“Boothroyd– I am home now if you still need–?”
“ Oh Q! Thank heavens! ” It was R.
“Oh, did you guys fix that issue? The Quartermaster called me about it earlier–”
“ Q. Shut up. ” R ordered, “ Listen closely. We’re under attack. Turn on the news. I need you to tell me where you are right now. ”
Moving to his laptop, Q pulled up the news livestream only for his jaw to drop. Vauxhall Cross was in flames, the top floors gone. The top floors… where TSS was located… Gone…
“Home.” Q muttered, “I’m at home. Boothroyd sent me home because I stayed overnight.”
“ Stay put. Pack important things only. I’m getting you an escort. It’s all hands on deck. Prepare to be gone for a while. ”
Fuck!
“Boothroyd–”
“ Not on this line. ” R warned, “ Pack your cats too. ”
Click.
Q stood frozen as things started to set in.
TSS was gone.
Boorthroyd was… possibly gone.
MI6 was under attack.
Pick-up was on the way.
Fuck! Q needed to pack.
He managed to bag some clothing, his personal laptop and his cat’s by the time a knock on the door echoed through his apartment. How they got into his building was a dumb question all things considered but Q still mentally asked it.
His hand moved to the gun he kept hidden in his apartment and comfortably held it as he moved to the door.
“Who is it?” He asked, moving next to the door as we waited for the code.
“Your ordered cabbie.”
“Challenge: Blackout.” Q swallowed, his hand gripping his gun a little tighter.
The voice replied, “Response: Flashlight.”
It was the correct response.
Pulling the door open, Q lowered his gun as the agent stepped inside. Tall, blond and buff. His cover as cabbie was a little unbelievable but he was probably the only one available at the moment.
His eyes travelled down to the gun Q was holding and raised an eyebrow. “I thought I was escorting a boffin.”
“You forget the boffin’s are the ones that make and test these.” Q clicked the safety of his gun back on, tugging the weapon away. “Let’s go.”
The blond man hummed, then took a double look at Q’s cat-carrier. He didn’t comment on it.
Q pulled the door shut and engaged his security locks. He said as he moved to follow the agent down to an unsuspecting cabbie. The agent took him to the Thames– where the smouldering building that used to be the headquarters of MI6 was in full view.
Q couldn’t help but stare at it.
How many of his close colleagues–
No. Not now. Q needed to keep his head in the game. No use in letting himself get distracted.
The agent grabbed Q’s bag while he himself carried his cats onto a boat. Neither Q nor the cats liked the idea of it but they would have to deal with it. Q realised they were heading towards the location Boothroyd had been looked at. He had wanted an external location for TSS to test larger projects and this seemed ideal.
It seemed like this is where they were setting up their temporary workplace.
“Hey, do you–” Q had turned to the agent, but the agent had vanished on him. The boat was still floating in the water but the agent left without a trace.
Frowning, Q turned and headed inside, putting his personal id in to be granted access.
The moment he walked inside, R was at his side, her hands cradling Q’s face. “You’re alive.” She breathes, as if she couldn’t believe it. “We thought you were… there…”
“I am so– what happened?”
“MI6 was breached this afternoon.” Another voice spoke up. “Vauxhall is compromised, TSS is gone, as is the Quartermaster.”
Q choked as M approached them. “There you are. You. Follow.”
Looking between R and a retreating M, Q felt lost. That was until R hit his arm, making him follow the head of MI6 further into the temporary base.
Speed walking to catch up to the woman, Q walked with her into an office space and shut the door as M told him to.
“Q…” M muttered, “Boothroyd spoke highly of you.”
Past tense.
Dead.
“I hope that the agent picking you up didn’t cause you any trouble. He is not patient but was the only one whose security level was high enough.”
“Beg your pardon, ma’am, but I am not high up in the ranks.”
“You are now.” M replied, placing a stack of papers in front of Q. “Sign.”
Bloody hell.
With slightly shaky hands, Q took the papers and read through them. It was a contract that would make him the Quartermaster. Not temporarily either– it was the real deal.
“There are other TSS workers with seniority.”
“Dead.” M stated bluntly, “R refused the position because she knew the Major was preparing you for the role. Sign.”
“But what about–”
“Q.” M looked at the younger man, “Sign it. I don’t care about your past nor your excuses, we need someone now and while it is ahead of schedule, you are the man for the job.”
This would change everything.
Q knew that when he took the pen and put his signature down after another moment of hesitation.
—------------
Once the dust settled– well people started questioning decisions made in the heat of the moment.
Like bringing 007 back into the field after his supposed death for example.
With TSS in shambles, it was all hands on deck. Q had been working tirelessly together with the skeleton crew that remained. They were all tired but they feared the potential consequences that would follow if they didn’t hold the line. That meant dealing with calls from field agents demanding to know what was going on, taking care of extractions that were needed due to blown covers and sending other agents out to help stabilise the damage done.
MI6 had been hacked, files were stolen. M wasn’t the target of the explosion, she had been meant to see it. Q was trying to figure out how they managed it and how to plug the hole before the entire system was put on the internet.
TSS was setting up in what was rumoured to be Churchill’s Bunker but that was still up for debate. They were still finding new areas and it was easy to get lost. The dampness didn’t help with the tech but it would have to do. Rat’s were also a common sight but Q’s cat’s seemed to enjoy hunting the ones inside the hall he and his scientists had set up in.
M hadn’t been back since she left, she was too busy dealing with the new chairman of the Intelligence and Security Committee, a man named Mallory.
Q had yet to meet the man but he was sure that he would at some point in the near future with the way things were going right now. It wasn’t looking too good so far but there were more pressing things to be concerned about.
“M called, she needs you to bring this to an asset in the National Gallery.” R had walked up to where Q was trying to rebuild what was left of the MI6 system. “Read the folder beforehand.”
Peeling his eyes away from his screen, Q’s eyes burned as he looked up at R. His eyes hurt, he hadn’t slept in three days and had been Quartermaster for about five and a half hours.
“Can’t a fieldagent do it?”
“Highest clearance only.” R replied, “I’m not even allowed to read what’s in it.”
“Okay.” Q relented, accepting the folder and the equipment case R held out to him.
The meeting place was in the National Gallery. Q arrived there a little early, having been told to take a cabbie rather than the tube.
When he stepped into the gallery, Q found himself walking through the exposition of Turner’s work a little slowly. He enjoyed art and honestly he was glad to have a small break from staring at a screen– he would never tell anyone.
Because of his tiny detour, Q was not the first one to get to the ‘The Fighting Temeraire’ by J.M.W. Turner.
A lovely painting out of the Romance Period. Truly a masterpiece. The colours were formidable, the emotion in the piece spoke of letting go of the past– or at least that had always been Q’s interpretation. Out with the old, in with the new. Change, for better or worse. The nostalgia of the old warship and the new era in the form of a steam boat.
Q had read the case file.
The man sitting on the bench in front of the painting was the renowned Double-0 agent that every MI6 agent had heard of.
A man that was supposed to be dead up until he rocked up to MI6 sometime after the explosion. Why M wanted the man back in the field was up for debate but Q personally believed she had little other choice.
007 certainly wouldn’t be Q’s first choice.
Q walked up to the man, knowing he noticed him the moment he decided to head towards the agent, and sat down on the bench.
“Always makes me feel a little melancholy.” Q muttered, peering at the bright colours Turner was known for, “A grand old warship being ignominiously hauled away for scrap.”
Q hadn’t picked the painting but it felt like a jab M threw at 007 “The inevitability of time, don't you think?” He continued, “What do you see?”
“A bloody big ship.” Evidently, 007 felt the same. “Excuse me.” He said as he stood to walk away.
“007.” Q could feel the disappointment in Bond’s sigh as he dropped back down on the bench. Q’s words stopped 007 in his tracks and made him drop back onto the bench. “I'm your new Quartermaster.”
“You must be joking.”
“Why, because I'm not wearing a lab coat?”
“Because you still have spots.” 007 gritted.
“My complexion is hardly relevant.” Q shot back.
007 glared at the painting. “Well, your competence is.”
“Age is no guarantee of efficiency.”
“And youth is no guarantee of innovation.”
Perhaps not, Q mused as he retorted, “I'll hazard I can do more damage on my laptop sitting
in my pyjamas before my first cup of Earl Grey than you can do in a year in the field.”
007 scoffed, “Oh, so why do you need me?”
“Every now and then a trigger has to be pulled.” Q replied.
“Or not pulled.” 007 pointed out, “It's hard to know which in your pyjamas.”
They looked at each other for a moment. Q could see he had somehow managed to be amusing to the agent because his tone was less stiff as he held his hand out for Q to shake. “Q.” He acknowledged.
It was Q’s sign to complete the drop off. “Ticket to Shanghai.” He explained, handing 007 an envelope, “Documentation and passport.”
“Thank you.” 007 nodded as he pocketed the envelope without looking at it, trusting everything to be in order.
“And this.” Q pulled the small gun case out and handed it over as well. 007 did open the case, observing the weapon. “Walther PPK/S 9mm short.” Q explained. “There's a micro-dermal sensor in the grip. It's been coded to your palm print so only you can fire it. Less of a random killing machine, more of a personal statement.”
007 nodded, “And this?” he asked, pointing at the empty square in the case.
Q pulled the radio out, showing it to the man. “Standard issue radio transmitter.” He explained as he handed it over. “Activate it and it broadcasts your location. Distress signal.” Q added. “And that's it.”
“A gun…” 007 trailed off for a moment, “and a radio. Not exactly Christmas, is it?”
Taking a tiny bit of offence to that, retorting, “Were you expecting an exploding pen?” He looked at the agent again. “We don't really go in for that anymore.”
Q stood but 007 grabbed his arm to keep him seated for a moment. “How long have you been Quartermaster?”
Hesitating, Q looked away, “What time is it?”
007 glanced at his watch. “17.46.”
“...about 7 hours.” Q replied before standing and turning to the agent, “Good luck out there in the field. And please return the equipment in one piece.”
He pretended not to hear 007 when he said, “Brave new world.” as he walked away from the man.
Q couldn’t decide whether he respected the man or if the man was just an outright asshole.
—----