Chapter Text
“I have to work tomorrow, R took the day off to celebrate her anniversary with Keith.” Q succeeds in not rolling his eyes, barely, but the tone conveys his mockery.
“Do you have something against anniversaries?” James asks.
“Oh, no not really. Six months just seems a bit premature, sort of silly. We are adults, after all.”
“So what is the standard for celebrating, then?”
“I suppose a year.”
“It will be our one-year anniversary next month.”
(Looking back, Q wants to slap himself for that little derisive snort. But that was nothing compared to the thoughtless words that came next—)
“What exactly is the gift for a one-year-fucking anniversary?” He snorts again, and continues, “I rather think latex or leather.”
James, who has been walking at his side close enough that their shoulders brush, slips from his peripheral. When he turns, James' face is doing something complicated that Q can’t quite name, but knows instantly is wrong, wrong, wrong.
“James, wait, I–,” Q manages to stammer out, “look, I didn’t mean it quite like that.”
“By all means, feel free to clarify,” the other man says back, voice quiet and controlled. Q gives a nervous chuckle.
“Clearly, I just didn’t think,” this gets a slight twitch from James, “I mean, I just didn’t imagine it would matter to you. Seems an arbitrary thing to celebrate with every bedfellow. Bed-mate? Whatever,” Q says, waving his hand dismissively.
“There are no other whatevers,” James says quietly.
“I’m… sorry?” Q says, because he isn’t sure what else to say to that. It takes Q a good thirty seconds, which is thirty seconds far too long, to realise exactly what just happened. He rewinds and hears again the way James had said “our one-year anniversary” with a bit of wonder, perhaps a bit of hesitance, as though he wasn’t sure how this revelation might be received by the other party.
And the other party had laughed at him.
There is a singular moment where Q can see a deep disappointment and something he is tempted to call devastation flash across James’ face… but then it is gone behind the cool façade. He is no longer looking at James at all but at 007, who nods once and is gone.
Oh. Oh shit.
~💔~
Q knows his strengths.
He loves riddles and puzzles, which makes him excellent at shifting through large amounts of data to find patterns, or untangled purposely convoluted intel. It makes him a creative but meticulous designer. Yes, in the realm of cold steel and hard data, no one was better.
He loves words. He enjoys witty word play, and verbally sparring with his techs and agents. He loves puns, the cheesier the better.
But Q is a terrible liar. He always had been. And when placed in a position where he had to be anything other than truthful, he becomes quite bumbling, quite quickly.
The combination should have made him absolutely pants at playing the bureaucratic games of MI6, as was a long established precedent with Quartermasters. In fact, he has a leg up based on his own self-awareness. He simply leans into the assumptions made by those in power based purely on his appearance and role—he might be a genius, but surely someone as young and, well, look at him, must be absolutely socially inept.
(Mallory and Tanner and Moneypenny might know better, but it serves their purposes for him to be underestimated, so they let it all stand.)
An unexpected benefit is that this rare combination of honesty and snark endeared him to the Double-Os. He appreciates that, in this, he is a bit special—there were few things the agents collectively agreed on, and even fewer people they universally seemed to tolerate, let alone like. But this didn’t mean he always understood them. Oh, he doesn't mind that they are all confident to the point of being nearly insufferable. Their attitude has been earned through their competence. Anyone who didn’t deserve it likely got killed in the field rather quickly. And it isn't that he underestimated them, as the stuffy politicians in Whitehall, or over romanticises them like the green field agents. It is just…
Q is bad at lying, and they were all consummate, compulsive liars, and Q can never be completely sure when they are lying to him. So while he likes them, while he trusts them to act in the best interests of the mission, he takes everything they say or do was a certain level of incredulity.
Q realises now that, with James Bond, this had been a grave mistake.
~💔~
It takes exactly two days for Q to realise that somewhere in the last year of… whatever this thing between them was, Bond had become James and James had become an integral part of his life. He misses their silly text chats, the way James knew to stop by with something sweet after particularly nasty meetings, the way his stash of tea stayed well stocked with great intention.
Then Q has to the startling revelation that all of it—the whatever this thing was between them—had been instigated by Bond. It all makes Q feel both incredibly special, and increasingly terrible. James was the one who always texted him first, who made dinner reservations the few times they could both get away for an evening.
How had he not noticed?
Q expects their encounters at the office to be awkward, and he is both relieved and disappointed to find that 007, to any outside observer, acts maddeningly normal. Some things don't change. His tea remains stocked. And Bond is not any more or less respectful of Q than before. But there is a slight distance, each interaction feeling familiar and friendly, but not remotely intimate.
It all culminates that first Thursday after The Incident, as Q thinks of it in his head.
"Wait. James. Do you, well, are you available for lunch today?" He hasn't asked in months, it's simply become a routine, whenever James is in town. They have made a habit of getting away from the questionable canteen food and enjoying any number of places within walking distance. Thursdays were always a good bet, because Q had no meetings in the afternoons. It was strictly guarded R&D time.
But James just gives him a bland sort of smile and says, "Thank you for the invitation, but I am afraid I simply cannot get away today. Perhaps another time." And then he was gone.
Q, to his absolute mortification, nearly bursts into tears.
He is very far out of limited scope of experience with romantic entanglements, which means he must ask for advice. Which means he must confess what he has done. Which is how Q finds himself standing before Eve's desk, a sweetened coffee in hand, because it felt wise to soften her up with some sugar first. Eve looks at his offering and gives him that cheeky little grin that says she knows that she is being bought and she is going to allow it. And then she looks at his face, and her smiles drops.
He must look as awful as he feels.
“Well,” she says without preamble. “Out with it then. What did you do?"
"Why do you assume I did something?"
"Because if Bond had done something, you would have whinged about it to me, and you didn't. So clearly, you messed up this time."
Q has had enough time now to think over his sins, and frankly, he's quite appalled with himself. Even though he really did not mean to be cruel, does it matter? Impacts over intention.
"Can we talk somewhere more… private?" Eve nods, and leads him to conference room 3C, which has the best sound proofing plus is always inexplicably stocked with a bowl of Parma Violets, which Eve more inexplicably actually likes. Q doesn't understand how anyone could like candy that tastes like decorative soap, but today he is desperate and opens one, giving himself time to gather his thoughts. Eve simply watches him with her This Could Have Been An Email look, quietly popping little purple soap candies in her mouth. Finally, Q clears his throat and grimaces at the aftertaste in his mouth.
"I may have been hurtful. The topic of anniversaries may—may have come up. I may have said—I said I was not sure what the protocol was for gift giving on… on a one-year-fucking anniversary?” Q cringes. Eve looks horrified.
"Oh, Q, you didn't."
"Eve. I know. I just did not, uh…"
"Bother to notice how gone Bond is on you? You absolute numpty," Eve says with clear disappointment. Q cringes again.
"No, I did not. I just. Eve, please hear me out. I am not making excuses, I am just—" Q chokes. Begins to roll up his sleeve. Stops and rolls it back down. Takes a deep breath and says, "I do not really know what it is that James Bond wants from me."
"You've skipped the first step, Q darling. What do you want from James Bond?" Eve counters, leaning back on the conference table with her arms crossed. Q closes his eyes. He has actually avoided thinking about what he wants, really wants. He's just accepted what he was given. And wasn't that just the issue? James kept giving, and Q accepting, but only marginally reciprocating.
He had, without real intention, used James.
With a light hand on his arm, Eve says softly, "You need to know what you want, to know if you really want to fix this."
Q likes fixing things. Malfunctioning machines. Corrupted code. Inefficient systems. He knows, though, he could not hope to fix this alone. But that was why he has come to Eve.
"Please, help me," he says, in a tone he knows is pleading, but he is so far from caring, "please help me fix this."