One Orphan to Another
“I’ll use small words so even you can understand, 007. No. Now get back to work.”
“I’m afraid you don’t have a choice,” Bond answered smugly. Very few things gave him more pleasure than poking a hole in Q’s god-complex. Every once in a while the little prat needed to be reminded that not everything in the world was at his whim, and James relished in being the one to do it.
“It’s true,” Moneypenny said, though with more sympathy for the Quartermaster than he appreciated. “M already filed the order. We need your computer skills on site. You’ll be departing for the South China Sea tomorrow morning with 007.”
“I don’t fly,” Q growled.
“Well, you’ll have to make an exception this time. Sorry, Q; M’s orders.”
While Eve gave the seething Quartermaster an apologetic pat on the shoulder before heading out of his office to get back to her own, Bond remained perched on the edge of Q’s desk, smirking at as the young man’s fingers curled into furious fists and his chest puffed out indignantly. After a few moments, he couldn’t help but chuckle out loud, earning him a murderous glare from Q.
“Get out before I make your life a living hell,” he barked.
“We’ll see. Starting tomorrow, you answer to me for once.”
Bond ducked out of the way just in time to avoid Q’s stapler and swiftly exited the room as he reached for the pencil holder, but made sure to keep laughing loudly enough for Q to hear.
***
By the time they landed in Taipei, James almost felt sorry for Q. Almost. The young man had spent nearly the entire flight clutching the armrests of his seat so tightly that his nails had scratched what would be permanent claw marks into the leather, all the while with his eyes squeezed shut and whole body trembling. He thought that maybe he would give it up after an hour or two, but no, he spent the whole 11 hours acting like he was about to be put to death by quartering (with the exception of the twenty minutes he spent vomiting in the restroom). No wonder M let him get away with not flying. If any of MI6’s enemies saw a Quartermaster in this sorry of shape just from being in an airplane, the international intelligence community would never take England seriously again. It was pathetic, really, and no matter how miserable Q looked, Bond couldn’t bring himself to feel too much sympathy. Toughen up, kid. It’s all part of the job. However, he also could not remember ever seeing anyone so relieved as Q did when they finally got off the plane, and that included men he had rescued right before they were supposed to be shot.
“Pull yourself together. We meet with our contact on the docks in half an hour.”
“I know, and I don’t take orders from you,” Q snapped, grabbing a water bottle out of his bag and taking several large gulps.
Bond rolled his eyes and grabbed the Quartermaster’s arm tightly, staring him down.
“You do now, so get used to the idea. I know how to operate in the field more than you ever will, and the second you stop believing that is the second you get us both killed, understand?”
Q glared back defiantly, despite still looking terribly sick.
“Then send me back to London because if my memory is correct, your past missions would have ended in half the time and half the casualties if you actually gave a damn about the orders I, or anyone else, gave you.”
Bond’s eyes narrowed and his grip constricted, causing the younger man to wince.
“Thinks the child who can’t even leave the country without embarrassing MI6. Your statistics and equations can’t account for what happens on the ground. Now get changed and grow up,” he snarled, finally letting go of his arm.
Q – snarky, dry, authoritarian, “done with your antics, 007” Q – suddenly seemed to drop his resistance to Bond’s intimidation, shrinking back ever so slightly in what might have looked on a lesser man like fear before slinking to a back compartment of the private jet to put on his suit. Something was not right, and not just the flight phobia. James waited patiently until Q’s emergence 10 minutes later, still looking unwell but at least slightly more professional. They walked to the docks in an uncomfortable silence though keeping perfect pace with one another. For a few moments Bond almost thought that maybe Q had come to grips with the situation and was ready to play along, and maybe, just maybe, things might go smoothly. However, the inkling went straight to hell when instead of their contact from Hong Kong waiting for them was a fully armed squadron of paramilitary agents.
“In the water!” Bond shouted when the gunfire began, running toward the edge of the dock, but Q dug in his heels.
“James, wait!”
But the bullets were whirring past their ears, mere centimeters from hitting their targets. It was into the water or into a casket, and he’d be damned if they died less than an hour into the mission. Growling in frustration, Bond tackled Q and threw him into the saltwater, easily overcoming the Quartermaster’s flailing limbs and screams of protest, pulling him under as he dove them both deep enough to evade their attackers’ lines of fire. The harbor waters were safe for now, but they only had a few minutes of sanctuary before undoubtedly being found. He started to swim toward the surface to make a plan with Q, but upon breaching for air looked around to find no sight of the young man. Fear knotted in Bond’s gut. He had just seen him! Where was he?! Then it hit him, and he suddenly realized why Q had been so resistant to jumping off the dock.
Q couldn’t swim.
Taking a deep breath, James dove back down into the oily water, frantically scanning through the murk. There was Q, eyes closed and mouth open, several yards deeper and still sinking. Cursing silently, Bond struggled downward until he finally could reach an arm around Q’s waist and kicked furiously until they both made it back to the surface just a few feet under the planks of the docks. Bond waited until he heard the aggressors get back into their boat before hauling Q’s limp body back onto the wharf. Shit, the kid was going to need CPR.
***
When Q opened his eyes, he found himself wrapped in a large towel, though still incredibly damp. He was back on the MI6 jet, he knew that, but his head was throbbing and his chest was aching too much to process anything else. There had been water. So much water. Too much water…
“Does M know you can’t swim?”
Q jumped, not having noticed that Bond was sitting across from him. He had changed into dry clothes, but his still wet hair sent streams of water down the front of his face.
“Yes,” he answered with a sputtering cough. “And he knows why I don’t fly.”
James leaned forward, propping his elbows on top of his thighs.
“Something is wrong with you, Q.”
He laughed bitterly, despite the pain it sent bouncing across his bruised ribs.
“Really? I hadn’t noticed.”
“Why can’t you swim and why don’t you fly?”
Q dropped his head into his arms, pretending to dry his hair with the towel but really just needed to hide the tears in his eyes from Bond. The last time he talked about it to anyone was five years earlier during his psych evaluation when applying for the Q-branch job. It was all in his file and that was where he had hoped it would stay. The last thing he needed was a trigger-happy field agent like Bond giving him grief about it.
“My past is none of your concern, 007,” he deadpanned.
“Bullshit. It almost got you killed and I’m the one who had to save you. You can either tell me yourself or I’ll call M and ask him.”
Q chewed on his bottom lip and clenched his fist. He didn’t want to relive it. Not again. There had been water. So much water. Too much water.
“Snap out of it, Q, come back!”
Bond was directly in front of him, hands on either side of his face forcing him to look into his bright blue eyes. Without thinking, Q’s fingers darted out and found a grip in James’ shirt. Everything was bouncing around in his head, pounding on the walls of his skull and clawing at his chest like it was clawing to get out. He couldn’t breathe!
“It… it was an accident. It… it wasn’t anyone’s fault,” he managed to sputter between short gasps for air. “The plane went into the water… mum and dad they tried… I tried… they said it wasn’t anyone’s fault.”
He tried to say more, but instead Bond just pulled him into his arms, silencing him with a light kiss on the forehead. The world was spinning and aching, but it somehow felt less wet. He wasn’t drowning anymore. He wasn’t back in the plane as it plummeted out of the sky. There was no storm driving them into the sea. There was no life vest crushing his neck as he tried to reach for his parents as they sunk to the bottom of the channel with the rest of the plane. There was only warmth and dryness and the comfort from one orphan to another.