Chapter Text
When Q was called into M’s office, he had just handed off Agent 003 to one of his minions. It had been a living nightmare to get the man through Budapest under a hail of bullets, but Q was the best at what he did, and 003 had brought it upon himself, so what little damage the agent did take didn’t make Q feel all that bad. Honestly, just because Gregory Hind was a Dragon, the man thought he was bullet-proof…
As a rule, all 00-agents in MI6 were Dragons. Out of the diverse and curious array of non-humans in Britain and beyond, they were the best equipped to handle the stress and dangers of international espionage, what with their physical power and the way their thoughts naturally slipped into a predatory mindset that was arguably more dangerous than the guns they carried. Other non-human breeds were dangerous - Cerberii, Basilisks, even Harpies could be quite a threat - but nothing did cunning and destruction like Dragons did. Even though none of those supernatural creatures actually existed in physical shape and form, Q had to admit that there was something to the stories of fire-breathing, unstoppable monsters found in children’s books.
The monsters that Q handled just happened to heal very quickly and have a certain tendency towards pyromania. They weren't exactly giant flying reptiles, but 00-agents were still masterfully good at chaos nonetheless.
Q himself was a Fury. Not a very strong one, but he still registered when tested - on the official scale of one to ten, he was on the weak side with a three. M had been surprised that someone of his kind wanted the job of MI6 Quartermaster, because a Fury’s skill set wasn’t usually equated with cold, detached tech and computers, regardless of how strong the person was. Q’s credentials had more than gotten his point across, though, and now he was fixing things Dragons broke, hacking foreign systems, and generally building and coding more than he’d ever thought he would in his life. It was both glorious and exhausting.
Fatigued both from directing 003 and from the emotional eddies he’d handled in Q-branch, Q made his way to M’s office as quickly as possible. Her message had indicated that it was urgent, but he hadn’t thought to ask what it was about - that’s how distracted 003 had made him. Now that Q lifted his head and shook off the mayhem of the mission he’d handled, MI6 did seem a bit riled around him… Growing alert once more, the Quartermaster quickened his pace to a brisk walk, opening up the inner eye at his core and feeling threads of anger (of fury) drifting like threads of molten heat through the air. Heart jerking in his chest, the dark-haired young man got close enough to see Moneypenny, who looked almost afraid. Before Q could ask what in the world could unsettle a woman like her, she was nodding him to M’s office.
Moneypenny was a Basilisk. They couldn’t turn people to stone with a look like the myths said, but they were very, very hard to unsettle, generally staying cool as cucumbers even in the most hellish situations. If Eve was rattled, this was bad, and Q’s adrenalin began to fizzle through his system in earnest. “M, you wanted to see me immediately?” he said as soon as he got inside, the door swinging shut behind him.
M was also a Basilisk, one who knew her powers well enough to freeze even Bond in his tracks - metaphorically, not physically, although Q could also personally attest to the fact that M could drop the temperature in the room by at least ten degrees if she wanted to. Now her grey eyes were as sharp as glass, and everything in her emitted rigidly controlled tension that Q didn’t have to use his abilities to notice. “I’ve already sent a message letting R know that she is in charge of Q-branch for the time being. I’m afraid that I must ask you to use your skills elsewhere. Believe me when I say I wouldn’t be asking this of you if it weren’t completely necessary.”
“What is it you need? If something is broken-” With 00-agents, something was always broken.
But M cut him off. “I don’t need you as a Quartermaster - I need you as a Fury. I’ve got three 00-agents so deep in killing rages that I can’t even bring them back to British soil. I need you to bring them down.”
“What?” Q stuttered, totally stunned. He wet his lips and got his voice back under control, speaking more firmly, “M, I know that you’ve read my record - I’m a Level 3 Fury with a tendency for bottling things up. Lorelei Black would be much-”
“Lorelei is dead.” And with that, Q knew where all of the feelings of anger were coming from. Lorelei was just a waif of a woman, but she meant something to MI6. If he opened his inner eye just a little, he could trace the threads of fury through the air like ribbons of wrathfully red light - no doubt each one leading to anyone who knew about the death of Ms. Black. The strongest thread led incandescently to M, although she hid it behind her cold, Basilisk mask. “Am I correct in understanding that you and Mr. Bond have become rather well acquainted?” she asked unexpectedly.
Q’s cheeks flushed. “Well... er... yes, to a degree,” he admitted cagily, unable to resist the urge to look away.
M wasn’t interested in interpersonal relationships, however. Her question was as to-the-point and honed as a surgeon’s scalpel, “And you brought him down from a killing rage once before?”
Spine tensing like a ramrod at the memory alone, Q clenched his hands unconsciously where he still stood between M and the door. His hazel eyes snapped back to her, and he blurted artlessly in surprise, “I was unaware that that had been documented.”
“Just because Bond hates giving reports doesn’t mean he doesn’t write them. He was incredibly circumspect and vague, but I read between the lines, so I know that you were there and managed to help him. Considering he didn’t kill you, I’d say you made a very good impression.”
Q still felt incredibly lost, and the death of Lorelei Black - a fellow Fury he had only barely known - was starting to sink in. He was sure that if he just thought hard enough, all of the pieces would fit together, but he suspected he wouldn’t like the picture M was painting with them. “So you…?”
“I need you to go with Moneypenny and get my agents back. There may be other Furies I could send, but none of them even remotely know 002, 6, or 7. You’ve at least gone out drinking with enough of your coworkers to have met them, and you’ve acted as a Fury for 007 before,” M said like a cleaver dropping, cutting off the conversation. “Your plane leaves within the hour. We’ve already packed for you. Go.”
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Previous
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Despite the nature of espionage, many of those who worked at MI6 trusted each other enough to go out drinking just like coworkers from anywhere else - it was good for interpersonal relations. If everyone got along, they’d be less likely to sabotage each other, supposedly. Soon after settling into his job as the new Quartermaster, Q was invited along for company as well, and came to know that Harry’s Pub had the best beer, the Black Dog Bar was exotic but played music he liked, and Moneypenny was equally as friendly sober as she was drunk. As it turned out, so were certain 00-agents.
Bond was a bit of a conundrum, a problem that was probably mostly in Q’s head because the boffin’s sexual preferences were broad enough that he wasn’t put off much by gender. He immediately found the agent attractive, and kicked himself for realizing it. He mollified himself with the fact that most of the agents in the 00-division were more handsome than average and unbelievably fit, so he could hardly be blamed for staring at any of them.
He blamed this purely physical attraction for the little itch of jealousy that started up when he met Lorelei Black, a young woman who always appeared when there were more than three MI6 Dragons in the same place.
“They sure put up with her,” Q murmured to Moneypenny, leaning an elbow on the bar with his drink forgotten in his other hand. Eve was sitting next to him, but the four agents they’d brought with them - all double-ohs, although they looked shockingly normal in their street clothes now - were in the lounge seating nearby, sprawled lazily and looking comfortable while Lorelei flitted amongst them. She drifted from one man to another, sitting close and often slipping under muscular arms, then trading that in for another perch, all the while looking as happy as a tuft of dandelion fluff dancing on a breeze. Q tried to understand why he felt particularly annoyed when she got up from 008's side and scooted the other way, so that she could be welcomed into 007’s arms. The man just smiled his usual, charming smile and went back to telling some bawdy joke to 006 across the way.
It would be easier to be irked by Lorelei’s presence if she weren’t also MI6, and if she weren’t actually quite a nice girl. She wasn’t even insanely good looking, but in fact built a bit on the boyish side. All in all, even as she moved from man to man like some sort of party favor, it was impossible to think poorly of her, because she just looked so happy doing it. For some reason or another, the agents also weren’t coming on to her too strongly, although more than a few appreciative caresses had paid homage to the girl’s slight but pretty curves.
Eve followed where Q’s eyes were aimed, and seemed to take note of Q’s discontent even though he didn’t think he was frowning too heavily. “She’s a Fury - like you,” Eve supplied, one eyebrow lifting until she realized that the Quartermaster didn’t know what she was getting at - he’d only been in MI6 for a few weeks. The knowledge about what Lorelei was had surprised him, but he didn’t understand what that had to do with the unprofessional situation. Smiling a knowing little smile and glancing once more between Q and the agent he was particularly looking at (James, one arm now curled around Lorelei’s petite waist), Eve went on, “Q, 00-agents always need a stabilizer like Lorelei - she’s the only reason we can keep so many Dragons in MI6.” As Q’s surprised, questioning eyes jerked back to her, Moneypenny explained more fully, gesturing with her martini glass, “Lorelei is a Level 9 Fury - one of the most powerful ones in England. She constantly syphons off some of that killing intent double-ohs are encouraged to have. On the job, it can be useful, but ninety percent of the time, Dragons work best if they have a Fury around that they’ve been made accustomed to. What she’s doing is actually her job.”
With new understanding, Q looked back at his coworkers, seeing as Lorelei wriggled and leaned back towards Alec. Bond let her go without diverting his attention from his talk with 008, and the young woman moved to a different place - under 006’s arm again. The man seemed to relax minutely, a tension Q hadn’t even noticed leaving his broad shoulders. He smiled more easily, and offered Lorelei some of his beer. She wrinkled her nose and declined - “On duty,” Q thought he read her lips saying. Alec said something back with a wolfish grin, but the most misbehaving he did was to run a hand from her knee to mid-thigh. His smile had less wolf in it and more... human.
“I see,” Q said, flushing and feeling as if he should apologize to Lorelei for thinking so poorly of her. It seemed that Furies more powerful than himself could act quite a lot like minxes when really, they were doing very dangerous work with very dangerous people. He hadn’t been at MI6 long yet, but he’d already gotten a good idea just how lethal a 00-agent’s temper was - and how necessary it was for them to keep that temper in check if they were to succeed at their jobs.
“What level Fury are you?” Eve asked unexpectedly, feigning nonchalance and keeping her eyes purposefully diverted to the dance floor not far off.
Seeing no point in dissembling, Q took another sip of his drink before answering, “Just a three. I can keep Q-branch calm, though, which boosts efficiency. I know that I got my job on other merits, though.”
“Even powerful Furies can’t all work with 00-agents,” Eve replied, assuming that that was where Q’s mind was going... which was true, although he’d never admit it. He was curious. “All of the 00-agents had to accept Lorelei and took weeks to get used to her before she could safely come up to them at their worst, and pull away the excess frustration and temper. Right after a mission is when Furies are needed most, but if just any Fury stepped in off the streets, they’d probably end up with a snapped neck before they got close enough to help.”
Q shivered, wondering when their talk had gotten so morbid. He realized that he was still watching James and appreciating the slide and flex of his muscles under his shirt, and quickly swiveled his stool back around to face the bar. “Duly noted. I’ll be sure to give Lorelei the respect she’s due when I next see her,” Q said wholeheartedly. Lorelei was clearly a whole lot braver than she looked.
And he had to admit, his libido was a bit jealous of how she was so easily accepted - like a stray cat owned by the whole neighborhood - by the handsome-faced fellows casually sipping drinks and whiling away the evening.
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Present
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Q hated planes. He always had. As with most phobias, it had little to no basis in logic, which only made him more frustrated - it meant his greatest weapon, his brain, was ineffectual at getting him out of it. He didn’t even know why he was afraid of planes. He simply had been since as far back as he could remember.
That he was on a private jet helped only minutely. At least the ride was quiet and smooth.
“Doing okay, Q?” asked Eve, sitting across from him and looking concerned.
“Oh, just peachy,” he snarked back while squeezing his eyes shut and clenching his hands on the seat’s armrests, “Not only do I get to face a phobia today, but I’ve been told that I get to calm down three men with a licence to kill. Why doesn’t MI6 just leave them to cool down on their own?” He realized that he sounded nasty, but really, his temper wasn’t all that good right now. M also hadn’t had time to explain very much more before shuffling him off to the airport with Eve. “Apparently the local authorities managed to confine them, and I know that it’s been done before. Lorelei can’t be everywhere.”
“Yes, Q, but this time it’s different.” Eve’s voice was stressed and subdued, and the tiny sliver of these rare emotions had Q focusing past his fear of flying, eyes opening to wary slits. Eve was looking down at her hands folded in her lap. “This was a delicate mission, so Lorelei was sent with them - and she was connected to all three of them, evening them out, when she was shot.” Lifting her head and firming her jaw, Eve finished steadily while Q stared, “I know that you Furies can usually only take anger from people, but this is the exception to the rule. If a Fury is killed while using their power like that, there’s an emotional backlash. It’s happened only once before in MI6 history, as far as I know.”
“What happened that time?” Q had to know. He’d almost - almost - managed to forget that he was on a plane.
Eve’s eyes were as cold as any Basilisk’s. “It took nearly a dozen people to put the affected agent down before he killed anyone. Without a Fury nearby that the agents know, there’s no way to turn this kind of rage off.”
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Previous
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Q’s first adventure out in the field was with a minor agent - they’d gotten their hands on some chancy tech that even the London bomb squad didn’t want to get involved with, and the Quartermaster of MI6 had been the next best person to call. It had been quite an enjoyable stretching of his legs, if not exhilarating. Q’s second occasion to work outside the walls of Q-branch had been with 006. It had been decidedly more… exciting. By now, the new Quartermaster was aware that 006 and 7 had nearly tied records for most damages done that MI6 had had to pay for, but seeing the agent’s recklessness in person had been disturbingly illuminating. The mission had called for on-site technical assistance, and while Q hadn’t been around for the beginning of the mission, after he was laboriously flown out, he got to see its explosive end. All the good guys walked away with minor injuries only, and the Quartermaster had been too flabbergasted to do anything but stare in the face of 006’s ‘aren’t you proud of me?’ grin. The man was a maniac, even by Dragon standards.
Q’s third active mission was after being in MI6 for months and learning the different nuances and strengths of every agent he was responsible for. By this point, he knew that James Bond was the only one who didn’t say ‘How high?’ when the Quartermaster said ‘Jump out of that window if you want to live.’ Therefore, when it became known that 007’s mission required the retrieval of heavily encrypted data, Q rather nervously began packing his bags. It wasn’t that Bond was a belligerent agent, it was merely that his loyalty to MI6 and blind obedience were clearly different things to him, and sometimes he thought he knew better.
Admittedly, the agent sometimes really did. That was why Q rarely interfered with his missions besides giving intel and directions (although he’d interfere the hell out of security systems and traffic lights if it brought his agents home safe). The fact that Q was still rather unprofessionally hung up on him didn’t help either, but he blamed that on the fact that Bond was all charm and practically everyone who saw him had a bit of a crush on him.
This mission had been one of those occasions when neither Q nor Bond had known best, and one ambush, three tranquilizers (only one of which worked - on Q), and a lot of shooting later, Q and Bond were standing on a hijacked subway train with a lot of dead bodies around them.
Panting and still more than a bit unsteady from the dart he’d taken sometime back, Q immediately staggered to the door to the next train car. Unfortunately, the handle wouldn’t move, but he wasn’t particularly surprised. There had been so many bullets flying around that it was a miracle the ricochets hadn’t done more damage. He heard heavy breathing and a low, mounting growl behind him that immediately refocused his attention. Growls like that didn’t come from normal humans - just MI6 Dragons.
“Q…” Bond’s voice sounded thick, laborious, and it didn’t sound as though the difficulty stemmed from the multiple wounds bloodying his suit and skin. When the tranquilizers hadn’t done much against 007’s Dragon metabolism, their foes had handcuffed him to one of the vertical poles and presumably tried to incapacitate him after that. Q didn’t know the specifics; he’d been asleep for the worst of it. All he knew was that 007 was a lot more bloodied up after the Quartermaster awoke, but had broken one hand free. The other remained firmly affixed to the pole. Bond had done an obscene amount of damage from where he was, but now his pupils were blown, and Q imagined something hot and everywhere licking against his skin.
The agent cleared his throat as if the words were all piled up in it. “You might… want to leave.”
On a hunch, the Quartermaster did what Furies were known for, and hesitantly opened what he thought of as his ‘inner eye’ until he could just peek at his emotional surroundings. Immediately, he sucked in a gasp past his teeth and backed up an involuntary step, nearly tripping over a body. Trapped fury was bleeding off 007 like heat from a kiln. “Shit,” Q whispered, checking the door again. He wanted to try the one on the other side, but that would put him within 007’s reach as he passed him, and the fury of battle was still like one massive, raw nerve all over him. “I don’t think that’s going to happen,” the smaller man managed to reply in a voice that passed for calm, albeit a squeaky, breathless sort of calm.