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MI6 blew up in a cloud of smoke.

Major Boothroyd, a few Q-branch techs he had grown close to and even James Bond - all dead.

It was in a dank, dimly lit hallway of their new premises that Quart officially received the mantle of Quartermaster. The position he coveted for, finally his. The baton falling into his hands as it fell from the suddenly slack grip of its predecessor.

This wasn’t how he envisioned it would happen. Boothroyd was always there, alive, scowling with his eyes that smiled. Instead, he got M. With steel in her spine and war in her eyes - barking out orders to the staff who were scurrying around the expanse of space under the Thames.

“Quart, you are MI6′s Quartermaster now.” Was what she said, bulldozing on with orders before Quart even had the chance to process her words through the sound the explosions still echoing in his head.

Q took to his new position with ease. After all, he did already have a plan for this day. Just that he wasn’t expecting it to come so soon. With a clean slate brought forth by destruction, he was able to build anew with speed and ease. Unhindered by any old protocols. It would’ve been a dream, if it all hadn’t be started by a nightmare.

Regardless, Q was proficient and well versed with drowning himself in work. Blocking out the grief and the despair, until news of the resurrection of a certain blue-eyes agent had his heart stuttering in his chest.

James Bond, alive.

-

Q didn’t know what to expect, but he’d be damned if he didn’t see the man with his own eyes. After losing so many, to have someone who had become more than a mere acquaintance, after all that’s happened. It felt like a lifeline.

James Bond felt like a lifeline. Q didn’t know to laugh or smack himself silly.

Q watched the agent as he entered the gallery, noting the stiffness in his posture. Guarded. His eyes - like death had truly paid him a visit and hadn’t left. This wasn’t the James Bond he knew from months back. Q sat himself next to the agent, closer than necessary, but Q needed to feel his heat. Needed to know he was really alive.

The new Quartermaster started up a commentary of the painting before them. Hoping his attempts at sparking their friendly banter would be picked up by the agent. Apparently expecting someone else - Boothroyd perhaps, did Bond know the Major was no longer with them? - he excused himself and got up to leave.

“007,” Q said, halting the agent with three numbers.

“I’m your new Quartermaster.”

Q didn’t turn to catch Bond’s expression, but the pause, followed by his response, hinted that the agent had trouble processing the new information.

At Bond’s mention of his non-existent spots, Q fought back a chuckle. Bond never would have believed, even if he were told by Boothroyd himself, that they’d be putting Q next in line. Always a stickler for years of experience. Couldn’t really blame an agent of his prime age in being old fashioned.

“My complexion is hardly relevant.” Q easily countered, part of him reassured that at least the old James Bond was still somewhere inside the person sitting next to him.

“Your competence is.”

Mentally, Q sighed. The agent wasn’t one to think lowly of Q’s skills. Q knew Bond was only itching to get a rise out of him. There was the same warmth in his eyes, that hint of a grin, yet his tone hinted at being condescending. Q wearily regarded the infamous agent, having recently pulled off his resurrection trick, Q wasn't sure where he stood in this game of theirs.

Q quipped back at Bond’s age. For now, he'd just give as good as he got. The ease in which their retorts came comforted Q. James Bond was back.

”Q.” Bond said, finally acknowledging his new Quartermaster. Blue eyes fixed onto hazel ones.

“007.” Q shook Bond’s hand again, a proper greeting this time, before he reached into his jacket pocket for the envelope.

“Ticket to Shanghai. Documentation and passport.” Bond received the documents, pocketing them immediately.

“And this.” Q handed him his kit, describing the contents and their specifications.

The microdermal sensor Walther encoded to Bond’s palm-print. Radio transmitter. And that’s it.

“Not exactly Christmas, is it?” Bond groused, starting their banter up again. Q tried to hide his mirth as he told James that there wouldn’t be any exploding pens, knowing the agent caught the amusement in his voice.

“Good luck out there in the field.”

Bond’s watchful gaze didn’t leave Q till he was out of sight.

“Brave new world.”

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End

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