Was talking with a friend the other day and got the urge to write another 00Q fic. At first I was just going to make this a one-shot, but my friend was so excited that I was writing another 00Q, that I had to expand it, and it will probably be a full-fledged story now. :)

I don't own the characters or anything Bond. I'm just playing in the sandbox. :)

Reviews/Comments welcome!

Q sighed as he got into his flat and leaned into back against the door. It had been a long week, and his tiny fifth-story flat was a mess from where he only had enough time to shower, change, and sometimes sleep before he was back at work. He may be young to be Q, but he took hold of the position with both hands, and quickly quelled any objections through hard work and discipline. His minions - as he thought of them - now respected and trusted him, following his directives and producing results. The Q-Branch had been somewhat revolutionized under the guidance of the bona fide computer genius, and they had finally gotten cutting-edge technology to assist the double-ohs.

For the first time since the funeral, Q allows himself to be sad, thinking of the great lady who bravely gave her life to save the country she loved from a raving lunatic. He had played a small part, though he does feel he failed a bit by letting them be hacked. Even if there was no way he could have guessed it. Closing his eyes for a moment, he pictures the agent who had been so distracting and who had crossed his mind more than once since. 007. The most infamous of the double-ohs to be sure. But also one of the smartest, despite the fact that he's five years older than any other agent. Any that survived this long that is. Q only met him during the Skyfall incident as it's become known, and not since then. The agent, James, made quite an impression. Though, with his piercing blue eyes, fitted suit, and easy confidence of a predator who knows he's the most dangerous in the room, it's no surprise that he should make an impression. Add on to that his obviously sharp mind, and it was no wonder Q couldn't forget him. James was just his type. Like many women, he was always attracted to bad boys, especially ones who stood up to Q, and his quick tongue.

This job was not exactly conducive to meeting new people, however, so the young man had to content himself with his fantasies for now. Finally, he moved away from the door, leaving his bag and jacket on the arm of his couch before removing his tie on the way to the kitchen, leaving it draped over his bar stool. He would pick it up later, or at least that's what he told himself.

After hesitantly sniffing at what turn out to be some rather rank leftovers, the young man pulls out his take away menus and opens his favorite - Chinese - to rest it on the counter as he removes his sweater and sends it to join his tie before untucking his shirt and rolling his sleeves up. Contrary to popular belief in Q-branch, this sort of clothing is far from what he's most comfortable in, or what he would prefer. A part of him would love to go back to his college days of worn in jeans, t-shirts and hoodies, but that is definitely not professional.

As he debates food options with himself, Q grabs his scattered clothes and brings them to the hamper in his bathroom. When he turns back to get the menu, a cool, faint breeze brushes through the room, but before he can turn toward the source however, a smooth, deep voice reaches his ears.

"Well this is a rare sight." Says the figure sitting in the open window, smoking with the cigarette thoughtfully held out the window and nearly finished anyway. "Somehow I expected you to live somewhere much more modern." He continues, the trademark icy blue eyes moving around the modest flat, with its wood floors, radiators, and muted pale brown walls.

Q jumps at the voice, startled before he turns around to face it, sighing a little. He should have guessed who it might be. "007." He greets coolly, pushing his glasses up as he looks at the older man who is, as usual, dressed impeccably. "It should go without saying, but apparently you need the reminder. Personnel files are private." He adds with a slight hint of annoyance.

A small chuckle comes from Bond as he flicks away his cigarette, then gracefully slides inside the window and shuts it behind him. "I didn't look it up, I followed you from the office. Earlier in the week and then again today. It's a good thing I didn't have any ill will toward you, there were half a dozen spots I could have kidnapped you. We have drivers for a reason. You are far too valuable an asset to fall into enemy hands. Any enemy." He points out in a slightly scolding yet playful tone, hands sliding into his pockets as his eyes peruse the younger man's form.

Resigning himself to the fact that the agent does not look like he is leaving anytime soon, Q sighs as he goes back to his menu. "I am Q. No one knows what Q looks like however, and my former personal history no longer exists. This flat is under a false name, which has a suitable history for any checks that might be done, I made sure of that." He points out in a cool tone, before he turns sharply to look at the agent. "Now, kindly tell me why you are here, 007. This is my flat, not my office. So, if you do not give me a good reason why I should not throw you out, I am afraid you will have to leave."

For a moment, Bond remains still, eyes narrowing briefly as he evaluates Q and how serious the brunette is, before he looks away. "They haven't finished my flat yet, and the idea of spending another night in a hotel was rather distasteful. I prefer not to stay in hotels while in London." He explains before he glances around, finally turning his gaze back to Q and moving with feline grace over to the younger man, sitting down on one the stools close to him. "I'll even pay for dinner." He offers as a little extra incentive.

This man was dangerous. In the field or in everyday life it's obvious that Bond was used to getting his own way with his charm and smooth words. Q should put his foot down and refuse to put up with his antics. But the older man is just his type and he did not look forward to a lonely night in front of his laptop or tellie, either. With a small sigh, he pushes his glasses up as he decides to give in. "Alright, but don't get used to it, it's just this once."