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Day One – Tuesday
James stepped off the plane from Cairo with a small box of Turkish Delights in his newly bought messenger bag. It held only two other things – the cigarillos he'd bought for Tanner and the scarf for Eve. Everything else had been swallowed by the sands of Egypt. Not an unusual result for one of his missions but he'd been doing his best to not ruin his belongings anymore. He enjoyed seeing Q get stroppy but not at him, which had prompted the return of the last three guns he'd been given. Not the radios or earbuds, but the gun was the important part really. Losing it as he dangled off the side of a 1940s biplane had been vexing.
Debrief at MI6 had been quick, his mission had been to destroy the warehouse and it had gone up in a nice fireball as he escaped so a job well done. Eve had loved the scarf, enough that she'd waved him off and promised to get the paperwork sorted. Palming the cigarillos in Ms office had been harder, but he'd enjoyed the challenge and Tanner would get off his back about the lack of paperwork sooner this way. He'd still be on Bond's case regarding the money spent and the replacement items and passports and such, but one thing less was still worth it.
A short drive later and he was revelling in simply being able to relax. His lover was curled into his side, occasionally reaching out to sample a new flavour and share with James. The carrot and ginger had been peculiar but nice, tart and sweet. There was a movie on the TV but James was ignoring it, sinking into the still new feeling of comfort that came from trusting where you were and who you were with.
Q resting against his chest, blanket weighed down with Merlin, the stray tabby cat with odd streaks of orange in its grey fur he had bought home nearly three months ago, James drifted to sleep.
Day Two - Wednesday
'007 are you paying any attention to what I’m saying?'
'Of course M, you have a mission, it's a quiet one, discretion is of the utmost importance but I'm both the only one with clearance AND not in medical so you've got no choice to give it to me.'
James looked out over the wide view afforded by M's new office. It was no Vauxhall view of the Themes, but the view of St James Park was lovely all the same.
'Don't get shirty with me Bond, I mean it-'
'No attention, no explosions, yes M I understand the point of subterfuge.'
'And you're usually the first to fuck it up and throw a grenade! I will not have the Scottish breathing down my neck because you destroyed their opera hall!'
'I usually get the missions that have a higher chance of gunfights. You might find, director, that when I'm given quiet missions, I get them done, quietly.'
'You've never done anything quietly in your life,' Mallory sat back in the overpriced chair, spinning to look away from him. 'Just get out of my office and get this done, Bond.'
James turned, striding through doors and elevators under bright white lighting until he reached a set of blast doors three levels down in what had once been a series of tunnels and escape routes.
They opened at his palm code and he walked through as a wall of noise hit him. His excellent timing once again in play, the cacophony dropping off as he walked through. A look over the floor of Q branch showed him several things on fire in the testing zone, while the usual mish-mash of cubical farms had finally formed into a college LAN-party where each computer, whole unto itself, was also connected to every other one and had formed a tree of wires that probably made the regular IT staff weep. A little further on he found his Quartermaster, in the middle of a pack of puppies, each one eager for a new task and whatever praise he might give. The five of them stood in front of a server rack, each cable neatly tied and no longer than it needed to be.
'-you don't need to have yards worth of cabling, it's messy and we have enough of that with Boothroyd's leftover projects. Now, the four of you need to get the next two racks set up and online by the end of the day. After that, we'll handle the transfer of data and all gods willing we'll be able to get rid of the old ones by the end of the week.'
'Yes, Q.' The four scattered as Q turned to look up at him.
'Now Bond, you should know better than to lurk. Meet me in my office if you would.'
James nodded, continuing the length of the catwalk and down to a mezzanine office that also unlocked at his handprint. It was composed of clean, simple lines and clear desk space, the only stand out is the new table that had appeared in the corner, covered with... well James wasn't quite certain really. He recognised an old recording device from interrogations, a printer, several cables and what might have been the motherboard of a computer.
'Please don't touch James, at least one of them is poisoned. They were from Boothroyd's collection.'
'I'm surprised they're not explosive,' he grinned, looking at his lover.
'Those ones are in more appropriate places. Ones that won't be an issue if something explodes. We've found microfiche in the strangest places, so everyone picked a few items and is spending some time on it.'
The simple black briefcase that had been under Q's computer opened to show off a tablet computer and several neat sheaves of paper.
'It's a surface pro I upgraded. It will connect to our offices easily and quietly should you need to contact us. The papers are your cover – you're an architect looking for inspiration as you failed to win the account with the Scottish government last year. Your inner acoustic work is excellent, but the outer façade was met with scorn.
Your target is Henry Delany, son of a well connected American banker. He is in Scotland on business for his work as a fine arts dealer. He is expected to have security with him, but his mother was a minor opera star when he was a child and he makes a point of seeing La Traviata whenever it plays. While we don't believe he has any connection to his father's dealings, he does have access to the family home and its computer network. Your primary target is to clone his phone, and secondly to plant a bug in the laptop or tablet if you can.
Your sleight of hand skills are some of the best we have, but you have two days to get the phone so don't be hasty about it. You've also be given your usual set, two earbuds, a radio and watch with a very loud alarm. Also, your fifth palm coded Walther. Please bring this one back James. They're expensive.'
Q handed over the briefcase, gun hidden in a false bottom along with the rest. It would fool the magnetic readers at the airports and his name would be flagged to ignore the so-called "random" checks. James leaned in, pressing a kiss to the soft cheek and a second to chapped lips.
'I'll be careful. I'm not even supposed to need the gun, remember? Quiet mission. In and out and back in two days.'
'Mmm, you and quiet are not friends James. Off you go. There's a go bag with the driver and he has your tickets so no ditching him to drive yourself.'
James grinned and kissed him again before spinning to exit the office.
'Now why would I do such a thing?' He called over his shoulder, nimbly leaping up the steps and back along the catwalk. He waved to several of the techs he knew, glancing over the more isolated and calm area that held current mission runners before heading up one level and into the parking garage. He nodded to the driver, sliding into the car and spending the drive looking over his paperwork and the cover he'd been provided.
Heathrow was as hectic as ever, tourists and Londoners alike forming a constant stream of worried and antagonistic people who got in each other way. He slipped into the lounge, his flight still forty minutes from now thanks to a surprisingly clear run to the airport.
By the time the flight had landed James was fully invested in his role as an arrogant but insecure architect looking for inspiration in modern and classical buildings. He'd drunk another bottle of water, loosening his tie and crushing the immaculate suit he'd been wearing over the course of the flight. By the time he entered the hotel, he looked nothing like the put together agent of the morning.
He mumbled, squinted at the buildings he passed and snapped irritably at people who crossed his line of sight. The hotel was simple, overlooking a small park, but well maintained and comfortable. Much less expensive than he'd expected of an art dealer and banker but better for his purposes. If he was lucky he'd be able to plant the bugs while Delany was out tomorrow.
Noise in the hallway alerted him to a piece of good fortune – Delany leaving the hotel early, the snarl of orders and irritation twisting his voice leading Bond to conclude his latest deal had gone badly. He slipped out of his room a few minutes later, making his way only a few doors down and slipped the fake card Q had programmed for him into the door. Another minute after that and he was back in his own room, fake card back in its place and showering for a night of tailing his target.
Day Three - Thursday
The great silver rise of the SEC Armadillo had always reminded him of a croissant. With the play of spotlights in a range of colours it looked a lot like something from the disco age, splotches of colour ricocheting off and moving around. He'd been there for most of the day moving in and around it, taking a tour of the area and dictating notes. As night fell he'd set up near the entry, briefcase at his feet, note pad on the small table as he watched for his target. People watching was a habit he was long accustomed to – the golden necklace being rather brazenly worn by the mistress of a minor politician that had been featured in the society pages around the neck of the man's wife only a few days before; a minor religious figure who routinely decried the arts as anything of worth on the arm of a young man.
Bond watches as Delany is seated, frustrated that he's not had the chance to clone the phone. He'd tailed the man for most of the afternoon yesterday and parts of the morning and afternoon today, but he'd rarely seen Delany put the phone down. He even kept it on the table while eating, taking long enough at the restaurant Bond could tell his steak was cold by the time it was finished. The phone was off now, tucked away in an inner pocket but, like most of today, still out of his reach.
The opera is excellent, as far as he can tell. It’s not a favourite of his, though he knows enough to recognise one of the harder aria being performed with skill. He makes a show of studying the stage, the lighting, going so far as to use an app on the mobile Q provided him to take measurements of the bannisters and seating, the distance between it all.
As they trail out of the hall, James has the uncomfortable feeling of another predator in his space. Someone is watching him, but not a sniper, there are no clear lines of sight to this walkway. It's someone close by and he moves with the crowd a little more carefully, wary of knives and small handguns such as the one currently pressed to the small of his back.
He shifted, glancing at the handily mirrored surface to see a man with short brown hair, an unscarred and neatly shaven face and a suit almost as nice as his own. No one he knew, but that meant little in the organisations who would enjoy having him as a guest. He followed the subtle prompts, leaving behind the main crowd to be joined by two more men and a woman who linked her arm with his as they strolled along the river. He'd seen her before at the opera, elegant Japanese fan next to a glass of something red and sweet.
'Do I get to know your name? I rarely take such a lovely lady for a walk without it.'
'Don't be silly Mr Bond, my employer is well aware you'll sleep with anything willing, names exchanged or not.'
'Well, I supposed you're not wrong but still, manners.'
James breathed a small sigh of relief in the privacy of his mind. While he and Q had an agreement about his engagements on the job, he'd been so less since they had made a commitment. The trouble was that Q was a very real weakness for him and at some point, he was likely to slip. The day someone realised just how important the Quartermaster of MI6 was to him was the day he'd retire.
They made it halfway down the boulevard before he found his chance. He pushed into the gun, gripping the woman's arm to swing her into the second man and diving at the third tackling him around the knees. The low aim kept him from getting shot by the gunman who shot his partner in the shoulder instead. He was up and running even as he registered the spray of blood over his neck and aimed himself at the river. He was banking on them preferring to get out of the still thinning crowd rather than just shooting him. Climbing out on the other side he sighed, he owed Q an apology. He couldn't even get a simple mission done without gunshots.
Making his way back to the hotel was an exercise in patience, and a small helping of relief that they'd not found his hotel. No one was waiting and his target was standing right there in the hallway, no guards and no phone. He smirked a little, stumbling past Delany and palming the phone that had been in his pocket.
He logged into the program on the spare phone, setting it up still dripping slightly and tucked it out of sight while he changed. Half an hour later and he was in the foyer saying loudly that he'd found a phone in his hall but it wasn't his and he couldn't find anything about it so could the nice man please take it off his hands.
And with that, his mission was done, target none the wiser.
Which was when the wall blew out and he started running.
Day Four - Friday
Running through Scotland in the early hours of the morning wearing only jeans and an undershirt was uncomfortable. Something he'd learned early in life, a few hours more north of Glasgow but annoying relevant to his current predicament. He'd found a jacket but kept getting made by the gunmen behind him, just a little too quickly to hotwire one of the numerous cars he'd passed.
He ducked into an alleyway, breathing deeply and fumbling for the phone he had in his packet. No wallet, gun or passport but at least he could alert Q that he was going to have to steal a car. He considered letting them take him but disregarded it. Q would give him the look that asked if he had a death wish and frankly, James had given up on that some time back. He'd rather have Q and Merlin than a beach in the Mediterranean. He peeked around the corner, judging distances and made his way to the oldest car on the block. A broken back window – sitting broken glass wasn't high on his list of fun things to do – and the honed skills of a dissolute youth had the car running and himself on the way to London.
Petrol stations with tap and go were a wonder he decided an hour later, finished filling the tank and sipping at a coffee with far too much sugar in it.
'James, I found your attackers. They'll likely be your next target so I'll see you when you get home. Don't bother coming in, we don't have enough information for a briefing yet.'
'Alright Q. Do you have a better car stashed somewhere for me, or am I taking this poor thing all the way to the house?'
'All the way I'm afraid. I'll see you tonight.'
Q rang off and James turned his attention back to the road, pondering the long list of enemies he'd made over the years. It was a long list and he shook his head, passing it off for a later day. He drove steadily south, pulling off at a small bed and breakfast and charming the suspicious concierge with a story about his sister and her contractions. A quick text to Q, to let him know about the stop, several small traps to wake him if necessary and he fell asleep, an alarm set for 6 hours.
The traps hadn't been disturbed when he awoke and he moved the glass off the edge of the chair and back onto the sideboard before moving the chair itself from under the door. The car was fine too and he was back in London for afternoon tea at a small café near home. Not well dressed, but still acceptable enough for a cuppa and some sandwiches, he settled in sipping at the lovely home mix the café served. By the time his hunger was sated the sun was setting, and he perused the shelves for several small delicacies for Q before heading off.
Day Five - Saturday
MI6 is a hub of constantly moving people, and the headache he bought back from Scotland hasn't faded as he enters Mallory's office, sunlight stabbing into his eyes as he stands at ease.
'I'd be impressed Bond but you still managed to get shot at.'
'Still not my fault M. My mission was completed with no explosions.'
'You got shot at.'
'Different enemy.'
'The same enemy in fact. Delany made you.'
James stiffened in shock.
'How sir? I was careful, and ensured I left no prints.'
Mallory huffed, and James took the waved hand as an invitation to sit, getting out of the sun.
'Not your fault, it turns out Delany is more well connected than expected. With the face recognition programs Q has in place he was able to identify the woman you spoke with. She's currently on her way to America, and you'll likely be following her. Information is still trickling in, and the clone you made of Delany's phone is doing its job. For now, write your own reports instead of having Miss Moneypenny do them for you for a change. You'll have tomorrow off most likely while Q branch digs deeper into Delany.'
Bond nodded, 'Sir,' and stood, heading for the small offices set aside for agents. They're cold, impersonal and as always lacking in stationery so instead he headed down for Q branch, certain he can steal, ahem, borrow, a laptop for an hour or so. R, a lovely older woman with magenta hair and a nose ring, sends him off to the corner reserved for handlers, soundproof glass walls cutting off the noise of the floor.
It doesn't take long and he enjoys lunch with Q and R before heading for the gym to while away a few more hours until he can collect his Quartermaster for the night.
Day Six - Sunday
Sunday morning dawns clear and cold, and blessedly late, Q curled up to his chest and Merlin at their feet. 'Shower?'
James laughed at Qs grumbling, letting the genius lean against him while he twisted the taps, looking for Q's preferred temperature. The grumbling turns to happy sighs as he tugs gently on the strands of dark hair, massaging away the stress of a long week. A quick tumble turns into a long shower that has them leaving in soft sated giggles as the water finally goes cold.
They spend the day inside, relaxing together in a way James would have never considered possible only a year ago. Q swaps between a video game and his laptop, head on his lap or curled under his arm as James reads, catching up on various topics of interest in the news and the book he's been reading on and off for a month. The make sandwiches for lunch, moving around one another easily and settling back on the couch, tea in hand to watch an old movie, a mutual love of musicals was a pleasant discovery early in their relationship.
Dinner is a simple pasta and they retire to bed early, warm and wrapped around one another.
Day Seven – Monday
He drives Q into work on Monday, prowling down hallways and past checkpoints next to the slim man like some form of bodyguard. It amuses him to see people scramble out of their way.
'007 please stop terrorising my staff.'
'They need toughening up if a 00 gets them scared,' he returns with a grin.
'Perhaps, but you'll have enough time to play when you get back. For now, M has given the go-ahead to hunt your would-be captors from Scotland.'
Q continues on, outlining his new mission, and James thinks with a vicious pleasure, No rest for the wicked.
~fin~