Summary: Protecting the Quartermaster entails a special set of circumstances, and Q is the last one to know.

Excerpt:

"Your identity has been compromised," M said as he leaned forward in his chair, his features grim even as his tone remained even and calm. "I am standing you down from all your duties in Q branch. Kindly hand in all personal computers and devices. I am placing you on administrative leave, effective immediately. You need to disappear for a while, Q, for your own safety. Think of this as the holiday you never had these past two years. We will get down to the bottom of this and repair the damage done; otherwise I shall have to ask you to step down."

Q gaped at him, finally speechless.

"At any rate, quartermasters are entitled to double-O agents as bodyguards, when the need arises, and he personally volunteered," M continued as though he'd not just dropped the equivalent of a bomb and a death sentence through slow torture rolled into one, "and I do agree that under the circumstances, 007 would be the best choice as your bodyguard."

Author's Notes: Hello and welcome to yet another fic. It's 00Q this time. I know, late to the party as usual, but better late than never. Hardly any research done on actual MI6 protocols and not Brit-picked. Please be kind.

Teasers are posted every few days after an update and can be found at the end of each chapter. Enjoy!

Of all the double-O's, he just knew he would have the hardest time dealing with 007. Even among this elite group of agents, staunch patriots and efficient killers all, Bond was a different breed altogether. Everyone knew that. Even M was hard-put to rein him in, and he was one of her favourites. Perhaps this was why 007's sudden and unexpected demise came at him with an even stronger punch than anticipated.

He was weeks away from his new post when M's obituary of Commander James Bond, C.M.G., R.N. started to circulate within MI6, leaping from his inbox full of other interdepartmental emails which needed looking into. He sat still, skimming through the message even as a shocked hum rose all around him in Q branch, the news travelling lightning-fast through secure channels to spread across the entire Secret Service. 007, killed in the line of duty in Turkey. There was not even a body to retrieve and to bring back home.

And so that was that, he thought as he felt something deflate within him. He was mere weeks away from meeting Bond along with the other double-O's— a formal introduction as part of his new job assignation, not just the casual run-ins at Q branch when Bond happened to drop by to get his briefings on new equipment by Major Boothroyd, the soon-to-be former Q. In fact, they didn't run into each other all that frequently, save that one time.

That one time, when he had been distracted by the data in his tablet as he made his way to the boss' office, only to stop short and realize he was walking straight toward 007, who had just emerged from a meeting with Boothroyd. He had stepped aside reflexively, wordlessly, tablet clutched to his chest, staring as 007 passed him by, his movements smooth and graceful as a shark gliding under water.

He ought to have said something: at least a greeting, or a dry apology, only his voice had died in his throat when 007 had flicked a glance at him. Those pale blue eyes ought to have been cold…only they weren't for that small fraction of time when Bond's gaze had alighted on him. Even without the slight uptilt of his mouth, Bond's eyes held a lazy, almost indulgent sort of amusement which he had found startling and fascinating in equal measure. Even worse, the smirking glance had been followed by a brief wink.

A wink.

What in bloody hell?

He'd cast a furtive glance behind him, certain that it had been meant for somebody else— perhaps one of the female technicians hard at work whom Bond was friendly with…

There had been nobody behind him, so he had to arrive at the conclusion that the bastard had meant it for him. By the time he'd turned back to 007, all he could see was the man's back, broad and powerful, encased in that well-made suit, going, going…gone.

It wasn't even a come-on, not really. That was just how 007 was. He knew better than to take his thoughtless little flirtations to heart, yet looking at the man's obituary now, he felt almost fond and strangely regretful. He'd been rather looking forward to working with Bond, along with all the challenges that that would have entailed. And now…

Now, he ought to go back to work. But first, a small matter of saving the man's picture that had accompanied M's obituary. He would not stop to analyze why he did so, in the same way he would not stop to reason out why he would return time and again in the days that followed to gaze at that extraordinary face, forever framed in hues of black and white and grey.

They were colleagues, after all. Surely it was natural to feel something for 007. Perhaps it was for all that could have been had the man lived. And if he would allow himself a certain bit of sadness for a meeting that was now never to take place between them, who would be the wiser?

It was not as if he had a crush on the man. Oh dear lord, no.

And so that was that.

Or so Q thought.