My first attempt at writing a SentinelGuide!AU. Also I'm non-native user of English and have no beta, so I'm extremely sorry for any grammar/vocab mistakes.
I hope you'll enjoy the story. Any feedback is very welcome! :)
(Also, this story was published some time ago on ArchiveOfOurOwn by me, under the same username as here. Please don't accuse me of stealing my own work as it once happened. I just felt my account here was getting rusty and decided to add it here as well.)
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erlebnisse (n.)
the experiences, positive or negative, that we feel most deeply, and through which we truly live; not mere experiences, but Experiences
It's not that he has anything against ships.
Bond was never one to be jaded, he would have never joined the navy otherwise. But preceding few months were not really the best of his life. Firstly being shot by a co-agent (a freaking Guide who decided to go in the field), followed by the self-destructing vacation. Now the whole disarray with bombed MI-6 headquarters and stolen hard drive. Not to mention the barely passed tests (who the hell even thought it would be a good idea to mention Skyfall during his psychological evaluation? Bloody shrinks).
He still doesn't feel completely ready to be out in the field. He feels old and broken and his Sentinel senses has recently started to betray him. But he would rather die in some alley in Shanghai than by overuse of alcohol in some hotel in London as an ex-double-oh.
So now he sits in an art gallery, of all things, and waits to meet his new Quartermaster and finally take off for the mission. And he sits in front of this damned painting of a ship. The Fighting Temeraire Tugged To Her Last Berth To Be Broken Up, he reads the note under the frame. Just hilarious. (Though, he is partly thankful for the place being an art gallery. His senses have been going crazy since his last "death" and the relative silence of the place is almost soothing.
All this nearly makes him think that having a Guide would be quite nice. Someone to actually care about his state and bring the blissful tranquillity to the overstimulated senses.)
It's not a thing that happens every time he's faced with a boat. But he's having harsh time, didn't really sleep well and it just happens. The associations unfolds by themselves in his brain. The water and the boats. Venice. Vesper.
He hates being melancholic when he's this much of a wreck.
ж
Q seems to be unable to move. He hates to be late but he's just standing there, a couple of steps separating 007 and him and he can't close this distance.
It's not supposed to happen. He has already made peace with himself. Accepted the fact he's defective. That he won't ever bond and just live through his life with a hole in his chest.
And now he can't move because - in the most sublime form of paradox - for the first time in his life he feels this pull. His Russian blue, his feline spirit animal, is purring at his feet, observing the agent on the bench with amusement.
But it can't be. It's not possible. There was never anyone compatible. He's twenty-seven and has been a Guide for half his life and he's already came to terms with the fact there was no one for him. Damn him, if MI-6 hadn't been trying to match him with any unbonded Sentinel in their array, knowing how that would improve his already exceptional skills. Some of them even felt pulled to Q, but it was never mutual. He long ago ceased believing in the fairytales like having one destined soulmate Sentinel somewhere looking for him. But to be nobody for him...
And now—A broken double-oh?
He takes a shuddering breath and sits on the bench next to James Bond. He hates himself for how anxious he feels. That's not him. He's strong. He can manage and he will.
"Always makes me feel a little melancholy," he says and curses himself in his mind. He always blathers when he's either overtired or nervous. Then he adds something more about the painting and when he realizes he's indirectly offending the agent, he wants to shoot himself in the head. Great start, Q.
No wonder the Sentinel wants to leave as soon as Q finishes his peculiar monologue.
"007," he calls after him and the other man returns to his place.
It's when, not long later, they shake hands, he truly feels it again. This pull, the need to surrender himself to Bond and at the same time take care of wrecked agent, never leave his side again, become his. But Bond's impossibly blue eyes are steady when they take in Guide's appearance. Curious and bewildered, but also tired and absent and there's no spark that would indicate he felt the same.
Q has the sudden urge to curl up at the very bench he's sitting on. But he doesn't. He's stronger than that. He is an unbonded Guide who became the youngest head of department in the history of MI-6 and no Sentinel is going to change that, especially one visibly not interested in him.
But the almost primal need to bend his head back and uncover his neck for 007 is overwhelming.
He finishes the meeting as swiftly as he can.
ж
There's something about this youngster that calls himself his Quartermaster that makes him linger in Bond's mind. He can't really put a finger on it and it's irritating him. He tries not to think about it, but flights to Shanghai are not particularly interesting and he ends up analyzing the meeting in art gallery over and over again. He must admit that Q is witty and enthralling in being so easy to underestimate, but if these were the only things, it won't bother him this much. What did he miss? Once again, he wishes his senses would start cooperating with him, like they used to.
Then, much later, when the female Guide, Eve, visits him in Macau, the only detail he cherishes in his mind from this meeting is learning the fact that apparently Q is afraid of flying.
Why would he pay so much attention to it?
ж
Q is rapt with work, the agency system still needing to be improved with new defence protocols after latest attacks, when unexpectedly his heart makes a weird jerk. He stops typing, amused by the phenomenon. Then he notices 007 entering the Q-Branch.
The Sentinel is casting glances around him, taking in the small crowd of technicians working restlessly, but he's clearly heading for Q's desk. Q can almost hear his spirit purr.
"Q," the agent says.
"007. I've already been given your radio. What happened to the Walther?"
Bond shrugs and his sky blue eyes don't leave the quartermaster, like he is some kind of puzzle to solve. It doesn't necessarily make the younger man more comfortable. "I'm afraid it was consumed by a komodo dragon."
Q can't stop himself from rising his brows in exasperated look. "Have you just said that you fed a giant reptile with my gun?"
The Sentinel smiles charmingly as a response. Q sighs and adjusts his glasses. You can do it, just act like he isn't the only person in the world that would make you complete.
"May I ask what is the reason for your visit here? Can I help you with anything?"
007 puts his hands in his trousers' pockets and glares at the multiple screens. "I wanted to be present when you decode Silva's computer."
"You came right on time, then."
Just don't show off, he tells himself. It's just a Sentinel.
"Now, looking at Silva's computer..."
ж
Q is staring at his hands with hateful expression. He failed. He set Silva out. He should have seen through all this.
The escaped Sentinel is right. He's not 'a clever boy'. He's a bloody idiot. His first month as a Quartermaster and he has allowed such a disaster to happen.
No wonder Bond didn't even recognize him as a potentially compatible Guide. He wouldn't want himself either.
The shields he has taken up so long ago and kept always up, protecting him from the surrounding world, suddenly shatter and the emotions of the present technicians attack him with overwhelming force. The fear, doubt, anxiety, desperation, confusion, doubt, anger, doubt.
His Russian blue makes himself visible next to the keyboard and hisses at Q angrily.
He needs all his strength to stop his knees from giving out, when his own empathy is crushing him. He buries his face in his hands, curling the fingers on the frames on his glasses. He needs to focus, raise his shields again...
"Q, he's gone," Bond's voice is resonating from the intercom and suddenly it seems enough. Q focuses on it, missing the meaning of the following sentence, but he feels he's taking control over his ferocious empathy with agent's voice as an anchor. He lifts the shields with a sigh of relief.
"Do you read me, Q?"
"I can hear you," he says, grateful that his voice doesn't shake. "I'm looking for you."
He starts typing furiously trying to track his Sen— the Sentinel.
ж
M is sitting in the back of the car and Bond knows he needs to disappear and form a plan. He needs someone he trusts who would lead Silva to his accord.
The first person he thinks of is Q and that's somehow surprising. Rationally it's a good choice, he's the technical genius who can play Silva in his own virtual game. The young quartermaster may have lost the first round, but Bond knows really well that it wasn't Q's fault. Even his skills couldn't stop something planned so carefully.
What really bothers the Sentinel is the fact that he simply doesn't trust people this easily. But somehow Q is an exception to this rule. And Bond doesn't really have time to consider it now, just follows his gut.
"Q. I need help."
ж
Bond is sitting in the dark of the soundproof room in the Medical of MI-6 headquarters. His wounds have been tended and he was given a sedative that should soothe his senses.
He feels on the verge of losing his mind.
His head is pounding, skin feels like it's on fire and unbearable weight on his chest is making him suffocate. He feels so helpless, he almost wants to zone out if that would stop all this.
M is dead and it is his fault. Everyone he ever truly cared about is now dead, his home burnt down and he can't even control his senses. His Sentinel nature is betraying him again and this time, he doesn't possess any more will to fight.
There're steps outside the room and he isn't supposed to perceive the sound of them, he shouldn't, he is in a room made especially for Sentinels on the verge of zoning out. Even though, he makes those imaginary steps centre of his attention and tries to overfocus his hearing.
Let me zone out and never wake up.
He hears a meow in the corner of the room and startles, trying to make out any shape in the darkness. It's soon followed by another one, almost scolding.
He must have finally lost it.
The meowing doesn't stop and it feels like ages. It's the only variable thing in this void and he can't tune it out.
He breaks out of the room after the aeon of struggle and this damned meowing.
The cat is sitting in front of the door, his tail swaying in amusement as he watches the Sentinel. He has very svelte figure, even for a cat, his fur is grey and eyes are of impossible shade of green. Those eyes remind him of somebody...
Cat purrs almost approvingly and starts pacing towards the end of the corridor. When stunned Bond doesn't follow him, this furry nuisance looks back and once again meows at him. The Sentinel laughs with sick desperation. Cats can't make scolding sounds. That's ridiculous. And with that thought, he follows.
He drags his feet behind him and leans on the wall to keep vertical position. His grey guide stops from time to time to check if Bond is still trailing. Sentinel isn't really sure why he does it at all. Maybe because that keeps the cat quiet, maybe because something inside of him actually seems to pull him towards, maybe because when you no longer have any purpose in life, following a scolding cat seems appealing.
He realizes he arrived at Q-Brach when the silent hum of a single computer fills his ears.
Q turns around abruptly the moment Sentinel lays his eyes on him.
"007?" he says shocked, approaching him hurriedly. He lets Bond lean on his fragile figure and starts steering him towards the nearest door. The cat sits on the nearby desk and purrs, visibly pleased.
"Is this your bloody cat? It wouldn't stop making noise until I followed him," the Sentinel says as they enter some room. It must be where the employees of Q-Branch spend their breaks, there're cupboards there, a table dotted with mugs, a couple of chairs and a huge couch. The latter is where both of them finally end up.
"Is it even allowed to keep pets here?" he's mumbling when Q puts him to lay on the couch with agent's head on younger man's lap. "It shouldn't be, you know how they can irritate Sentinels' senses?" he keeps talking when slender delicate fingers are buried in his short hair.
He looks up at the pale face above him, green eyes gazing into him with unbearable fondness. It was his eyes that the cat reminded him of.
Suddenly, Bond realizes how his senses calmed down since he entered Q-Branch. There's a presence that seems to swathe him, fills him with tranquillity and hope for better. It makes him feel at peace, like he hasn't felt for years.
The realization hits him and he would probably stand abruptly and start pacing calling himself stupid, if he wasn't feeling so comfortable.
"You're a Guide," he says instead, crossing his gaze with Q. The green-eyed man smiles sadly and nods, his hands still stroking Sentinel's hair, projecting the serenity towards wrecked agent.
His senses are settling and sharpening, like they hadn't in months and—
Oh.
This irresistible pull, the need to claim and protect, the need to bond – seeming to crawl out of his very being, when the fog tethering his senses finally thinned. He takes a deep breath and Q's scent is filling him, every fibre of his body. He hasn't felt it since Vesper and it's almost like coming home after long tiring journey; like resurrecting.
"You're my Guide," he says like Q is something precious because he is. "This damned cat is your spirit, isn't it? It guided me to you."
In response, Q takes a deep breath and makes a sound that Bond can't define, he can't tell if it was a chuckle or a sob and it irritates him.
"You need to rest," the green-eyed quartermaster says and plants a ghost of a kiss on Bond's forehead. He falls asleep almost immediately, mantled in the presence of the Guide.
ж
Bond wakes up alone, rested and lacking. His senses are not as ragged as during past months, but there's suddenly a goring hole in his chest. It was always there but he learnt to disregard it with a success. Now it's like re-opened wound dusted with salt. He knows the reason for his contradicted state and he's still not sure what to do about it. For a moment, he chooses to ignore the problem.
He doesn't feel like getting up, still keeping his eyes shut. The coach is relatively comfortable and he really doesn't want to face the reality yet.
He stretches his freshly regenerated senses a bit and listens to the sounds of working Q-Branch behind the wall. There's almost soothing hum of five—no, six working computers in the background. It must be still very early in the morning as only few employees are present. Seven persons in total; four humans, two bonded Guides and a Sentinel (probably an agent getting his equipment before leaving for an assignment). There's a staccato of restless typing on three keyboards, a conversation he has no interest in and a clack of a mug being put on the desk.
He sighs with contentment. He can't remember the last time he used his skills with such ease, without getting sidetracked.
He knows that Q is not in Q-Branch and probably not even in the headquarters at all. He would feel him, the pull...
He doesn't want to but he's grateful for it.
ж
An hour later, Bond is opening the door to an apartment in a hotel near headquarters. He still hasn't purchased a new flat once the previous one was sold after his death.
He lies down on the couch and helps himself with the bottle of whiskey he bought earlier. He isn't sure he can get through this sober.
He feels trapped. He can't bond, it's in the description of the job. Double-ohs are supposed to be a bit unstable Sentinels, more inclinable to violence than the bonded ones. There are other groups of agents at MI-6 that are required to have a Guide, but not double-ohs.
Back then, for Vesper, he almost quitted MI-6. He sent in his resignation in order to be happy, fulfilled. They didn't want to rush anything and decided to bond after he's finally free of his duties. They were supposed to do it back then in Venice-
Sometimes he still wonders...
After that he decided he would stay an unbonded double-oh agent, now and always, even if he ever meets someone compatible.
But he hasn't predicted this.
The way he feels pulled to Q is not the same like it was with Vesper. It's stronger, more primal, more imperative, more, more...
It's almost impossible how much influence the Guide had on him. He stopped him from losing the contact with reality due to overstimulation of senses - a thing which was impossible for bonded (more powerful and experienced) Guides from Medical. Vesper never had such control over him, even after they spent so much time together.
Can it be...?
He always took it for a fairytale for teen Guides and Sentinels, a story that is supposed to help them cope with being different than the majority of the society. A spoof telling that their species exist in pairs and they're bound to find this one Guide or Sentinel that would complete them, their bond would be unbreakable and they would understand each other like no one else, imprint on their perfect match and finally feel whole. The pull towards them would be so strong, there would be no doubt...
He loved Vesper and they were compatible as a Sentinel and Guide, but what he felt during those minutes with Q yesterday – it suddenly makes him believe in this fairytale. The only thing he can think of now is finding the quartermaster and never letting him out of his sight again. He needs him to an extent of physical pain; he can already feel returning tangling of senses. At the same time, he is restless in his unawareness of Q's state, twitchy to storm out of the hotel and protect him from any possible danger. Paradoxically, the predator side of his nature wants to pin down this green-eyed skinny boy, scent every millimetre of delicate skin, dig his teeth into the pale neck and mark him, claim the Guide for himself.
He growls out loud at the thought.
And the last thing he can't ignore - he saw his spirit animal, for god's sake! He has never seen Vesper's. It's something quite intimate, reserved for bonded pairs, almost literal baring of one's soul. And Q's spirit simply appeared for him and led him to the (his) Guide.
"Well, fuck," he says taking a gulp of the alcohol right from the bottle.
ж
Q is approaching the headquarters with a take away coffee in his hand, when Bond's presence hits him. He needs to actually stop and take a deep breath. Or three.
He didn't get a wink of sleep since that night. His empathy is out of control, shields keep shattering, his whole being calling out for the Sentinel he left in the break-room of Q-Branch two days ago.
After their first meeting in the art gallery, he thought he would be able to manage, to work with Bond and ignore the pull towards him. But that night tore this plan to shreds. When he actually felt the connection with the Sentinel and those ridiculously blue eyes looked at him like he was the most precious thing in the world, he knew he was done for. There was no good ending to this. He would never be able to forget the sensation of being wanted and bringing bliss to the Sentinel; but he would never bond with a double-oh either. It was like getting a taste of something unimaginably good and then getting your tongue ripped out, with that flavour left in your mind.
He startles when he realizes the presence is gradually getting stronger. At first he assumed that Bond was simply inside the building, but he must also be on his way.
That's when Q sees him, walking from the other end of the street. Their eyes meet, his heart shatters and he knows that Bond is coming to him.
He can't move, so he ends up waiting for the Sentinel to reach him after what seems like aeon of trying to keep his shields up. For a moment he's weighed down by the emotions of a quarrelling human couple in a car standing nearby, but he manages to tune himself out. When he opens his eyes, after not realising he closed them in the first place, Bond is standing in front of him with mien of worry painted on his face.
"We need to talk," he says quietly and Guide only nods in response.
They decide agreeably that they won't feel comfortable inside the headquarters and walk to the nearest park, both rapt with their own thoughts on the way. They occupy the first empty bench they come across and for a long moment, just watch people walking their dogs and jogging by.
"Q, I—" Bond hesitates and the Guide can't help but cringe a little at the sound of his name. "I can't bond with you."
"I know," he replies too quickly. "Double-ohs' policy."
Q's grip on the coffee tightens and the prolonged contact with hot liquid within thin-walled container makes his palms prickle. He's grateful for it's strong smell of cinnamon, filling his nostrils. Bond's scent still cuts through it but is more bearable (and Q thinks that if it wasn't for the intensity of cinnamon, he would have already bared his throat to the other man and begged for being bitten).
"I wouldn't make a good Sentinel," the agent persists and his hoarse voice reverberates in Q's skull. "You'll find someone better than me," he says, though it barely makes it out of his throat. "You're barely twenty, whole life is ahead of you."
The Guide's chuckle is hollow and his hands are starting to hurt from holding the coffee. "I'm twenty seven, 007. And it's not— Nevermind."
He can't continue, his hands starts to shake and his shields crumble. He feels his empathy going wild as his nature of a Guide attempts to convey his caveat to losing the Sentinel. Trying to regain control seems an infinite struggle, though it probably doesn't last more than a minute.
When his eyes focus again, Bond is looking at him intently, with fear and uncontaminated possessiveness.
"You're in pain," he says dazed. "Your hands..."
He takes the coffee from the quartermaster and puts it under the bench.
He shouldn't have known, it's impossible, he can't sense my feelings, we are not bonded, Q chants in his mind as the Sentinel tenderly takes younger man's hands into his. The delicate skin on his palms is red and sore and Bond gazes at it like he's holding someone dying in his arms.
"I'm sorry," the Sentinel says almost inaudible and then rapidly gets up and walks further into the park.
ж
As he enters Q-Branch, the majority of the employees look up from their work and glance at him with bewilderment. Q's known rather for working overtime than being late, but nobody says anything. When he's halfway to his workstation, Daniel - one of the older technicians who's been working for MI-6 for some years now and of whom Q is rather fond - approaches him. A bit of worry shows on his face as he eyes his boss.
"Miss Moneypenny called," he reports. "007 and 009 are being sent out on missions today. Documentation was e-mailed to you and the equipment is to be prepared by eleven o'clock."
"Thank you, Daniel," Q says, feeling the headache pounding in his temples. He's thinking about taking the painkillers he keeps in his desks in case of such occurrences and that's when he realizes his coffee is still under the bench in the park, where Bond put it and...
"Daniel, could you please fetch me some tea? Strong one, no sugar," he calls after him and it sounds more like a plea than an order and the other man frowns a little as he says "Of course, sir," and leaves for the break room.
Q sighs heavily as he sinks into his chair and enters the password to his computer. He needs to compose himself before Bond comes to collect his equipment.
This whole situation with their pull towards each other is ridiculous. How is this even possible? They're so diverse and disparate, how can they even be compatible?!
Despite everything, it is happening. And they have no choice but to cope with it.
He will endure. He won't lose everything he worked for just because the Guide inside of him made the worst choice possible.
He will endure and live as an unbounded Guide.
Even if he does not fully believe in it himself.
ж
Q has problems concentrating as he is actually waiting for the upcoming meeting with Bond – and hates himself for it. It's really not going to turn out well if his life starts to consist of bitter-sweet encounters with the Sentinel and anticipating in between.
009 left the Q-Branch with his equipment fifteen minutes ago and since that, Q hasn't managed to do anything productive. He can't stop analysing their conversation in the park, even though it feels like digging his own grave.
Half an hour later, Quartermaster feels Bond approaching and ensures that his mental shields are intact. He can't allow another breakdown - he needs to learn how to cope around 007 (as well as he's afraid some of the Guide-technicians may pick up some emotions that should not be known to the MI-6).
When Bond actually enters, Q's checking (for the fourth time) the algorithm he wrote earlier, that would be requisite for the following mission.
"I've heard you have something for me," Bond says when he reaches Quartermaster's workstation. He's in a perfectly fitting navy suit, his hands buried in the pockets, with the attitude of usual nonchalance surrounding him. It helps Q relax a little, too.
"Indeed, I have and I hope you will take care of them this time. Those are not toys for you to play with and break when you feel like it."
"Seems like I've been deluded for years! Thanks for clearing that up, Q."
"Oh, it's my pleasure to serve you, 007."
Their exchange comes so naturally and feels so comfortable, that when they both realise the occurrence, sudden tension forms between them and the Sentinel physically takes a step back.
Q busies his hands with taking out the set of equipment and laying each piece on the other side of the desk, within agent's reach. He's not sure he will bear even brush of touch today, though his whole being is begging for it.
"New personalised Walther," the Guide explains, touching the described item. "Just in case, it should not be needed this time. Quickly reminder that it's not a nutriment for reptiles." Q looks at the Sentinel askance and gets an innocent shrug as a response.
"Communication devices," he brushes an earpiece and a microphone with his fingertips. "And USB receiver. And no losing the earpiece in some sort of beverage. The contact must be maintained throughout the whole mission."
"Who is to be my handler tonight?"
"It seems it's going to be me, 007."
Bond smiles possessively at the answer, collects his ration of gadgets and the envelope with plane ticket to Ireland and leaves without another word.
ж
The Q-Branch is almost fully covered in darkness. There is only one row of lights on, just above the Quartermaster's workstation. It's not an often happening - there is always someone to be monitored in the other part of the world and time zone. But tonight it's only the Q himself and 007 in his ear.
The plan of action is strict and clear. And this part requires the targeted hacker to leave his house and spend next few hours in a brothel – like he does every Thursday. And the agent is bound to wait.
"He's making himself a coffee," Bond informs exasperated. "Two— no, three sugar cubes and no milk... When will he kindly leave?"
"Stop moaning, 007."
For no particular reason, the hacker is actually delaying his usual departure and the agent becomes bored. He's been sitting on a tree next to the house for a second hour now. And for the last thirty minutes he's been using his preternatural hearing to report in details, what the man is doing, to really uninterested Q.
Bond shifts among the leaves and takes a deep breath. He's silent for another ten minutes (and Q starts to regret that he silenced the agent) when the query drops.
"Have you ever felt such pull before?"
Q actually stops breathing for a moment, but calms quickly. It's easier that way, when he's all alone in the half-light of Q-Branch and Bond is just a voice (dangerously intoxicating and addicting voice) in his ear.
"No," he answers simply, not yet ready to reveal everything. But he dares to ask. "You had almost bonded once, hadn't you?"
"Yes, I had," Bond says in a hollow voice. "But you know it all from my file."
"The file does not state about your emotions," Q retorts before he can stop himself. "And that's what holds the most interest to me."
The Guide thinks he hears a twig broke to a couple of pieces. "It was devastating. I promised myself I would never go through that again."
It hurts to listen but he was the one to ask the question in the first place.
"What you said earlier, that I will find someone else," Q starts and it's like swallowing needles but he needs to say it. "You would not imagine how MI-6 would like to see me bonded and at my full capacity, but—" a short hysterical laugh escapes his lips. "There's never been anyone for me. You're the only Sentinel I've ever felt pulled towards to."
Unsuppressed growl of possessiveness comes out from Bond at the admission and his breathing quickens.
They're both torturing each other. But they can't cease.
"It wasn't that strong with her as it is with you..." the Sentinel's voice is barely a whisper. "So incredibly irresistible... We were compatible, butyou..."
Q feels a weight on his chest that becomes heavier and heavier with every word of agent's confession and it's seems to go on forever.
He wants to be broken to pieces and then rebuild with parts of his Sentinel intermingled with him.
They're cultivating their own psychological demise and ignore the impending disaster.
"The target left five minutes ago. I'm entering the house."
Q bits his own lip until the metallic savour hits his palate and sobers him. "In the basement, you'll find the locked door with a fingerprint reader beside them."
For a moment there's distant sound of footsteps filling his skull and quartermaster can't stop himself from sucking on the bleeding lip.
"I'm by the door."
"Okay, wait a second."
Q opens the window with ready algorithm and activates it. He smiles to himself when everything goes according to plan.
"Now it should recognize you as authorized to enter."
There's a five second silence and then, "It worked. How did you do it?"
"Overwritten some poorly firewalled commands on a server of company that secures the house... I won't bore you with the details. What's most important, is that you don't leave any tracks that you've ever been there."
"You're a genius, have I ever told you that?"
The Guide inside of him almost purrs at the praise but Q does not allow himself to act like an attention-seeking girl with a crush.
"So now my inexistent complexion problem does not affect my efficiency?"
Bond lets out short honest laugh and the Guide feels it reverberate along his spine.
"Once you're in, turn the computer on and put in the USB I gave you. And I'll do the rest of work for you."
The extraction of the data they need is finished in twenty-five minutes. Q is satisfied with himself - his USB receiver fulfilled it's purpose and there's no trace of his presence in the system.
"You can remove the USB and catch the next flight to London, 007."
Come back, Q doesn't dare to say out loud. God damn me, but I need you closer.