Chapter Text
It isn’t really surprising that when the whole thing starts, James Bond is the first to be launched neck deep in the situation. A coincidence, maybe, but not surprising in the least.
The call had gone out for Bond to come in, for something mission related, at the ungodly time of 4:18 in the morning. He had just turned the corner, walking, his car in Q-branch for some fine-tuning, toward the side entrance of MI6 when he spotted Q coming from the other direction. He looked like he too had just rolled out of bed, trousers rumpled, more than likely the pair he had worn to work earlier. His hair more than a little wild, but his eyes were alert and he smiled when he saw Bond.
Q would reach the gate first, and Bond, not wanting to have to type his code in too, picked up his pace to make sure he caught it.
But they never reach the gate, a black car rounds the corner behind Q, tires screeching on the pavement. Q turns, his steps faltering. Bond, however, having years of training that screams instantly that no one should be rounding corners like that. He takes off into a sprint, as the car slows and two men jumps out.
Surprise catches Q off guard, but instinct kicks in when the first one grabs for him. Planting his back foot, Q swings at the attackers. The first man ducks, but he falls back a bit to avoid another. Both clad in black, with crude ski masks on, Bond can't make anything out, as he finds himself crashing in on the attack.
Tackling the second man, James rolls with the movement as they hit the ground; Bond springs back up onto his feet. He keeps an eye on Q, who lands a punch to the first man’s side. The man grunts in pain, and stumbles back, but doesn't move to attack Q.
The second man seemed to not have the same hang ups about hitting back, and immediately started swinging at Bond. For a moment it was a blur of punches and kicks, but Bond knew it was only a matter of time before he would win. That was before James heard a distinct cry, and turned to see the first man twisting Q’s arm up and around, popping it out of the socket in one move.
“Jean!” the first man called, seemingly to the man in the car. The back door swings open and the man pushes Q towards it.
“Bond!” Q shouts, good arm elbowing back and hitting the man square on the nose. The man cries out, cradling his nose as he lets go of Q.
With two swift jabs to the throat, the second man hit his knees, choking on his crushed airway. The gasps only fueling James’ rage. He turns, ignoring the hobbling man who moves away from James and towards the black sedan.
The men seemed to sense their plan had failed and together jump into the back seat, speeding off before the door was closed. Drawing his gun, Bond lets off a string of bullets, breaking the headlights and the back window before it rounded the far corner and disappearing from sight.
Q, who had been standing a few feet away, staggers closer. Bond looks at him, a mask of indifference trying to cover the pain and fear that were all over the younger man’s face.
“Are you-” Bond never got a chance to finish, because at that moment, Q's eyes closed and he began to collapse, falling forward. Instinct reacts and Bond manages to catch his Quartermaster before he hits the pathway. He has to heft Q up, to keep his grip; he’s grateful that he hasn’t caught the dark haired man on his dislocated shoulder.
Almost simultaneously, the gates burst open, four guards coming out with guns up, searching the area, before all four turn to look at the double 0, and the unconscious leader of Q-branch in his arms.
~
To say that Bond hated Medical, was like saying cats hated dogs or arachnophobics hated spiders. It was obvious, overstated and completely 1000% true.
Still it was nothing like saying that M hated when his agents were shot at and especially when their had been an attempted kidnapping of the Quartermaster.
“How the hell does this sort of thing happen?” M demands, turning to look at Bond and Tanner, eyes dark and focused. Unlike Bond and Q, M is very much dressed like he is used to being awake in the middle of the night. His suit crisp and even, like he hadn’t been just woken to the call of MI6 Quartermaster under attack.
Bond says nothing, watching with close eyes as two nurses set Q’s shoulder back into place, while a doctor looks over the nasty gash across his left cheek, it looked like the attacker had gotten one good punch in.
“It seems there was a confusion among the guards, who were supposed to be right inside the gate. A call had come in that they were needed inside. By the time they realized it had been false, Q should have all ready been abducted,” Tanner says, also the professionally dressed, though his tie did look a bit wrinkled. There were bags under his eyes, which spoke to Tanner probably having been awake for close to some amount of days at that point.
“Abducted,” M sneered, looking over at Q, who sat quietly, still a bit in shock, as the nurse coaxed his arm into a sling.
“Who the fuck tries to abduct the MI6 Quartermaster?” M asks, specifically toward Bond.
“I have no idea sir,” Bond replies, watching the hollowed look on Q’s face, letting it fill him with anger. He had seen friends, colleagues, even lovers get hurt before. But there had always been some knowledge that MI6 was safe ground. A haven. Now twice in the span of two years it had been attacked; their haven violated. And this time, Bond thinks, he isn't losing another friend to someone who thought they could play with MI6.
“But I do intend to find out,” he says, to M, whose steel gaze meets his own. Mallory nods, his eyes dark and glittering with the need to protect his people.
M takes two strides to the doctor, Doctor Bridges, Bond thinks, the one with no hair and that smells like peppermint and chocolate all the time. One of a very slim few who doesn't go into fits if Bond shows up bleeding, almost dead and holding a bottle of scotch. Dr. Bridge has wrapped up looking over Q, making notes on a chart about his conclusions.
Tanner stands, moving next to Bond. At first the agent doesn’t acknowledge the move, finding himself too absorbed in watching the nurse inject Q with something to ease the pain from his shoulder. Q mumbles something trying, it seems, to get her to not give the shot. She just nods and mutters something back, sliding the needle into his arm with practiced ease. Q struggles for a moment, and then as it takes affect, his eyes begin to drift shut. They lay him back, covering him up with a blanket.
“He’d be in their hands if it wasn’t for you,” Tanner says, lowly, only loud enough for Bond to pick it up. “She’d be proud tonight, Bond.”
Bond bristles at this, and shoots Tanner a look. The shorter man simply nods and turns to follow M out, who has gathered all he needs from the doctor.
“How will he be?” James speaks up as the Dr. Bridges moves to slip past him.
“Fine, he just needs sleep. The shock of it all will easier for him to handle once he wakes up,” Bridge says, and smiles to Bond before heading away. The nurses leave too, with a small glance to Bond.
For a moment, he just looks at the Quartermaster, now soundly asleep. The gash stands out bright under the two butterfly strips, at least no stitches were needed. They had stripped Q from his outer jumper and shirt, leaving him in an undershirt. It does little to hide the skinny nature of the man before 007, and for a moment, he supposes, yes, M would have been proud, but just like Mallory, she would be raising hell at the audacity of someone thinking they could take the Quartermaster. And now, no matter what, Bond knows he will carry on in the same manner.
And not at all for the tightness in his gut at the thought of losing Q.
~
Eve Moneypenny finds him, by 5:25 a.m., as he goes over the footage from the fight. She, like M, is dressed like she has just come in from her morning commute, one hand holding her morning coffee.
“So the rumors are true,” she says, without preamble, “someone tried to take Q this morning.”
“Tried being the operative word,” Bond says, watching again, as the men jump into the car’s open door. On screen he draws his gun and fires off shots, but this time he focuses on Q who is glancing at the other end of the street, from where he had been coming from. The shots sound loud over the speakers, and there is the distant sound of glass breaking when his shots finally land.
“Hmm, yes, you did have splendid timing, why was that?” she asked, the question Bond hadn’t been able to stop asking yet.
He hums thoughtfully, before rewinding the tape and watches the car come rounding around the corner again.
“Has M traced why we had been called in?” Bond asks, watching as the men jump out again, running straight at Q, who is frozen on screen, like he can’t believe what is happening.
“You had been called in due to a mission in Dubai, but Double-O Three has been sent. M wants you on this. Q’s call in was a fake, like the call for the guards,” Eve watches as the assailant twists Q’s arm around, flinching when she hears him cry out. “Bastards,” she whispers.
“Jean!” the man is talking to the driver, Bond can see him clearly looking to the car. There is no response, the driver doesn’t crack a window, just opens the back door.
“Bond!” Q’s voice is terrified, Bond can hear it better this time. Fear. Deep instinctive fear of knowing someone is coming to get you. It twists at him, watching how close they got. And really it was luck that Q wasn’t in that car, hadn’t been carted off like a prize from a fair, to where ever they had gone.
The elbow jab lands and Bond's lips twitch in a half-smirk as he sees the man grab for his nose, even sees the blood dripping between his fingers. Q probably broke it. The attackers dive for the door, not glancing back at Q or Bond, just focused on getting the hell away.
Refocusing his gaze, Bond watches as he raises his gun again, taking steps toward the car to fire. Q is off to the side, staring down the road in the opposite direction, and then Bond sees Q flinch and start to stumble toward Bond.
“There was nothing else you could have done, Bond, why are you watching this?” Eve asks, rubbing her arm slightly, like she’s feels a draft.
“Do you see this?” Bond asks, gesturing to the screen when he rewinds for the fifth time.
“What am I watching for?” she asks, leaning in closer.
“The men, they don’t attack until I interfere,” Bond comments, point to the man who has to duck to miss Q’s first punch. The second has several moments to throw a punch, to knock Q out, to hurt Q in any way. Instead he seems to be trying to calming Q down, like he’s a toddler who doesn’t want to go take a nap.
Then Bond tackles the second, and Q lands a punch. The attacker in front of Bond moves to the offensive, but it takes several moments before the first is twisting Q’s arm, popping his shoulder out of place. His cry cuts through harshly over the speakers.
“The first had plenty of time to knock Q out, and get him in the car. We weren’t exactly fighting for our lives. It’s like they had orders to not harm Q,” Bond says, and looks up at Eve, who looks just as confused as he felt.
“If their main object had been to capture him, why would it matter if he’s scratched up?” Eve asks, voice edged with seriousness.
“They wouldn’t care. I don’t think this is their last planned attack” Bond says, “I think someone is coming for our Quartermaster, for keeps.”