ｑｕａｒｔｅｒｍａｓｔｅｒ

“If you were planning on ignoring everyone, why did you even show up? You should’ve pretended to be ill and stayed home,” Charlie chided lightly. “Have another glass of champagne. Or two. Or ten. Then you won’t mind being social.” He sipped his own drink as he watched the crowds of people. Unlike Toby’s family, his weren’t so dead set on marrying him off. He was going to leave for his Kingsman training soon and then he’d become a spy. He wouldn’t really have time for a wife for a while yet, which suited him just fine. He hadn’t had nearly his fill of dating yet, he wasn’t ready to settle down.  It was a shame he couldn’t tell Toby about Kingsman. He’d been practically vibrating with excitement about the news ever since he’d heard, but it was supposed to be an absolute secret. He’d tell him once he became an agent, obviously, because he couldn’t have Toby thinking his life’s ambition was to just become a tailor, but for now he was trying to keep quiet about it. “How about I do you a favour and distract the Emsworths’ eldest daughter for you? I heard she got a nose job over the summer, and I want to see her new face anyway.”

      “ It’s not the social that I mind, Charlie, it’s that they’ll be trying           to barter and trade me all evening despite the fact that I’ve no           interest in anyones -- “ 

      He stops himself before he can finish the sentence and out himself         to the other boy.  It wouldn’t be the end of the world if Charlie knew,         but the chance that his parents could find out is what makes him go         silent for a few long seconds, makes him tighten his grip on that thin         stemmed glass as he imagines their looks and their hesitation to allow         him out of their sight again.

      They would insist upon fixing it.

      He would insist he wasn’t broken.

      Toby takes a deep breath and finishes off his drink, setting the glass         aside so he won’t wind up accidentally breaking it.

“Q.” There’s teasing admonishment in his voice, the sound low and drawn out. “Don’t sell your opinion so short.” It’s true. Q’s displeasure won’t stall him for a second; nevertheless, there’s no harm in pretending it might. 

There’s a cock of his head, a pull of amusement at his lips…

“On the contrary. It’s very much in place.” Stuck in place. Q has only ever specified one piece; no mention has ever been made of the condition of said piece. You get what you ask for, even when it seems a little tongue in cheek – white mutiny drawn from desire to irritate, just a little touch of fondness that won’t be admitted to. The keys are offered out. “Unless, of course, you don’t want it.”

      He visibly bristles at his title, shoulders pinching upwards in the         faintest as he finally just reaches for the keys despite his doubt         that the car was in any sort of reparable condition.   He wouldn’t         be surprised if Bond rode here on all flat tires or with a myriad         of other conditions that would cause most people to stop driving.

      Still, if he had it, he could repair it.

      Beat up was better than the other mans normal track record of         utterly destroyed.

“Don’t look too relieved, it’ll still probably be an awful party,” he teases, before turning his attention to a nearby caterer, grabbing two flutes of champagne off the tray and handing one to Toby.  He doesn’t mind these sorts of parties nearly as much as the other boy. They can be awfully dull, but as his father has often reminded him, they’re a networking opportunity as much as anything else. In their world, being well connected is paramount and unlike Toby, Charlie doesn’t have a title to back him up.  “I decided to show up at the last minute. I figure you’re be here, so…why not? Though now it’s your job to entertain me, so I hope you’re up to the task.”

      Thank goodness champagne was a staple at parties like this, and         not only that, but something they were seemingly required to be         drinking to seem at ease and happy.  He’s also fortunate that         attention moves away from him when someone else enters the         room, and he has a chance to slip from the center of the crowd to         a much more calm corner of the room.

      “ The Addingtons and the Emsworths have each been trying to gather           my attention.  I’m not sure how much longer I can pretend to not           see their waving or hear their calls without it beginning to look bad.”

      He’s whining yet again, but that was something that just seemed to         happen whenever Charles showed up to one of these events.  He         felt like he could relax around the somewhat larger boy without         needing any of the pretense that he needs with the other families.

“I suppose I shouldn’t have slow days at work either, considering what I do,” he admitted. “But the world isn’t on the brink of ending every day. Sometimes it’s all about filling out paperwork and mission reports.” Paperwork had never been James’ strong suit. He’d once suggested during a meeting that he bring along an assistant with him on missions so someone else could write up what happened while he was busy being in the thick of the action. Arthur had shot the idea down, unsurprisingly. He gave Q a smirk. “Honestly, though, you ought to try it sometime if you have a free moment. There’s something surprisingly kinky about having a wank while knowing you’re just a door away from all of your colleagues.”

      It takes several seconds for him to fully understand and accept         the words that the other man had just said, as well as the fact         that he had said it out loud, willingly, and with none of the         uncomfortable prompting that most admissions of this sort         were preceded by.

      His feet shift a slit bit further apart, one hand moves from his         hips to instead pull off his glasses so he can rub his sleeve         along tightly shut eyes as he tries to will himself to find a         response.

      And again it takes time, with his glasses still in hand he places         his hand back on his hips and lifts his head.

“Sticks and stones I can deal with. Your displeasure, on the other hand –” 

A dismissive and unconvincing comment; James rarely takes words to heart – or indeed, actions. All too easy to brush off whatever is sent his way, whether hatred or derision or something kinder, softer. Easier that way. Keeps the nights quiet. Keeps the job easy.

He straightens when he’s shooed, only to rest back against the desk when Q’s hand has retreated. Hand withdraws from his pocket, car keys dangling from between thumb and forefinger. He lets Q get a good look before he drops them back into his palm, tosses them over towards the man.

“In one piece and everything. Though perhaps I should mention that there’s a slight scratch on the driver’s side door.” Or rather, that the entire panel is crumpled inwards, window smashed, wing mirror hanging by a single wire.

      “ My displeasure will have absolutely no affect on you. “

      When James leans back on his desk the second his hand         is pulled away, Q makes a small sound of dismay, of         irritation that the man obviously doesn’t care that he         prefers his desk a certain way.

      But that all seems to fade away the very moment he         hears the light jingle of keys, even before he can see         them, and while his excitement and disbelief has him         wanting to reach out and snatch them away, his hand         merely shifts where it is on the table as his feet shuffle         faintly below.