Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Author Note: Set after 'Spectre'.

THE KINDLY CHAINS

The first thing Q said once he'd entered Dr Madeleine Swann's office was, "I hope you asked for a very generous salary."

Dr Swann smiled ever so slightly, a most purposeful lie, "It was a condition of my acceptance."

Dr Swann had a new life in London; she would soon be seeing new clients in an almost-prosperous well-being clinic. It was not MI6's first choice but she had turned M's job offer down flat. Bond had probably loved that.

"Temporary acceptance," Q asked, not quite a question as he took a seat amongst the leather chairs, deliberately positioned away from the desk.

Dr Swann nodded. Temporary then – seeing high-ranking members of MI6 only. She wouldn't tinker with Bond's brain though. Q knew that Bond had adamantly wished otherwise. Usually he avoided MI6's psychologists as avidly as he avoided medical staff but Dr Swann had still refused. How perturbing for Bond, a woman who could and would slice through the way he tried to glide by and the life he led in and out of the service. Good.

Dr Swann neatly drew the blinds, the room staying well-lit, and emerged from behind her desk to sit opposite him. She was dressed entirely in charcoal grey, her hair only loosely arranged away from her face. Her jewellery was simple – jet earrings and a matching bracelet. She used a notepad and pen, no tablet, no phone. Also noted. Someone who chose paper always gained Q's attention. Electronics were his life but paper remained a beloved hobby. He wasn't the only one.

"You were in the field unsanctioned, to assist an agent who was working unofficially," Dr Swann began.

It was Q's turn to nod, casting an eye around the room. Dr Swann added, "This session is not being recorded."

Q's smile was slight and telling enough to match hers, "I know."

He was very focused on knowing where all surveillance equipment was located throughout MI6 and the whereabouts of any that affected its employees. Another hobby. Unsanctioned.

Silence filled the small air-conditioned room before Dr Swann continued, her meaning perfectly clear, "Why?"

"An agent's wild theory had been proven correct and dangerous; I wanted to prevent it from happening."

"You don't often work in the field."

"I don't fly well and I'm too valuable to put in harm's way."

A fact and Dr Swann treated it as such. "And yet you still entered the field."

"There was no one else."

"How would you describe your state, emotionally, upon returning?"

Q had been stuck on a cable car of sorts, a very significant pile of information in his possession, not to mention everything that he kept mentally filed. There had been two men, with eyes like the Double-O programme and the same absolute cruel surety that they were going to get what they wanted. Q's heart had been pounding, he'd been sure they could hear it. But Bond and MI6 had needed the information from the octopus ring and Q highly-valued his life so he had thrown himself out of the car as young snowboarders had gaggled and laughed, the perfect living barricade. The two men had chased but Q was versed in slipping away, between the cracks.

"Relieved," was his simple reply.

Dr Swann took notes. She might have looked distracted to some but Q could sense her concentration. Her gaze, when it raised above paper, was level and extremely scrutinising under its placid veneer. He admired anyone and anything that could hide so effectively in plain sight.

"Would you say it's affected your work?"

Q's mouth curled ironically. "No."

"No sleeplessness? No problems concentrating? No flashbacks?"

"It wasn't trench warfare or IEDs."

Dr Swann's gaze flickered up. There was a sliver of what she had lived through before she'd met Bond, then that placid lake again. Had she done that on purpose? "It was vastly different to your work here."

Q conceded with a slight head tilt. "It was."

Firefights and men with killer eyes. Well, part of that was Q's everyday world; he dealt with Double-Os daily. He thought about the information that had poured out of the ring, meeting Dr Swann, her quiet dignity. Then later, her iron will, her intelligence, the matt and the gloss. Of course Bond had been drawn to her.

The sound of her pen was a comfort. There were framed pictures on the wall; Q doubted they'd been Dr Swann's choice. She could change them, temporarily. Maybe they were for the benefit of the people knocking on her door.

"Would you ever act unsanctioned in such a way again?"

More than likely, there were only so many neat boxes that MI6 could fit him into and needs must. Q only took a moment to reply, "If an agent's wild theory is proved correct and dangerous again, yes."

It would likely be due to Bond. Q was drawn to untidy code, to poorly-designed tech, driven by the need to refine, improve and rebuild. Bond was drawn to fire. Q doubted either of them would ever be rid of it.

Dr Swann closed her notebook. There was more spring-green in her eyes now, it suited her, and the cold crisp weather.

"He's like a caged animal."

"He does like to bite the hand that feeds him."

"I asked him, what he would do without this work."

"He didn't know."

"No."

Q handed her a thick folder, "Passport, driver's license, birth certificate, let me know if there're any problems."

Dr Swann looked through the folder's contents, Q looked at her. She could have done all of that herself as she had done before. Perhaps she preferred to not even touch that kind of work again, perhaps she wanted to test MI6's skillset or use the most unimpeachable route now available to her. She was very still, a different stillness to Bond's. How long before she broke all ties with MI6?

"You've worked here for years," Dr Swann said suddenly. "But you could disappear."

"I could," agreed Q.

It was who I was once, before all of this. But they found me, that first meeting, their first approach. I could have been locked up, never allowed near a computer again. Here there's funding, opportunities and very blunt instruments.

Dr Swann had walked away from Bond once, away from the world of her father, one she'd grown to hate. She had walked away from secrets and blood. She had decided to remain Dr Madeleine Swann though, a last grasp of her father?

Q's social media presence wasn't truthful. He didn't keep photographs online or in his flat. Like him, his family all hid in plain sight in their own individual ways, their work as important as his. His MI6 file claimed he was an orphan. Unrecorded or not, he remained silent. He had learned loyalty long before MI6 had found him, long before they'd started using gratitude as a kindly chain.

He got to his feet, "Let me know."

He tapped a knuckle against the folder – let me know if anything needs amending. He wouldn't tell Bond. Dr Swann's eyes were more pale brown now.

There was ink on Q's skin, a hidden tattoo, personal and carefully designed, something else not noted in his MI6 file. Around Dr Swann's neck was a discreet chain. On it hung a ring, an empty memento, engraved with a stylised octopus.

-the end