Work Text:
When most people said they were working from home, they meant checking their emails and maybe filling in some paperwork in their own time with the TV on in the background. What Q meant was hacking traffic cameras in a heavily policed neighbourhood at an inhumane time of the night. The troublesome agent that was his primary cause of stress and unsurprisingly the cause of the most recent explosion had once again found himself in Q's flat and was playing with the cats like the unapologetic bastard he was.
The 007 position had historically been held by the agent MI6 used as a personal statement to those they wanted to scare off (otherwise known as MI6's resident disaster); unfortunately, 007 was not supposed to be a personal statement to the general public. A statement had definitely been made, the safe house that had been masquerading as an unfinished apartment building had been exposed, but in downloading the incriminating data he'd been sent to collect, James had triggered a Doofenshmirtz-esque self-destruct. Why the safe house computer had a self-destruct feature strong enough to blow up the entire building Q couldn't fathom, but whoever had designed it had to have had a similar flair for the dramatic as the man currently play fighting with two fuzzy orange cats.
Said cats had grown bored with their playmate and had moved onto peering judgmentally from atop the bookcase. Therefore, said playmate had set his sights on the Quartermaster residing on the sofa fixing his messes.
"Double oh seven, kindly desist whatever you are currently planning. If you want to make yourself helpful, you can make me a cup of tea; if not, you can sit still and behave for once."
Somehow, he'd gained a sixth sense for mischievous plotting thanks to years of working with 12 walking disasters with licences to kill. Where had that been when he was babysitting the neighbour's kids at 17?
Said sixth sense wasn’t perfect however and didn’t warn him of James sneaking up behind him; he jumped when the other man began flicking at his hair, earning an amused chuckle.
"Jumpy." Now James was trying to steal his glasses.
Pushing the frames back onto his face with a little more force than was necessary Q retorted "I'd prefer optimistic and focused. I'd have time to pay attention to you if you hadn't blown up that block of flats. This is your penance."
"... You know what, that's fair. You wanted tea?"
That was a quick turnaround, but Q wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth, even if he did feel a little guilty for exploiting James’ well-hidden guilt, so settled for nodding. If he focused, this would only take a few more minutes.
He was finished relatively soon after, and James had brought a biscuit with his tea. In all honesty, he understood why the agent was so on edge, and he did want to help, but erasing that footage and talking down the authorities was time-sensitive than the slightly shaken double-oh currently in his kitchen. As much as James liked explosions when they were intentional, unexpected self-destruct protocols would leave even the most Pyromaniacal person spooked.
Thinking back, he couldn't remember when he'd become James' go-to place when he was on edge, maybe it was around the time James become his go-to when he needed to disconnect from technology and/or work for a while too.
Then James reappeared from the kitchen, breaking him out of his thoughts, "Thanks for not kicking me out, Q."
"I may joke about it, but you're always welcome here." His smile was unbearably fond, but it was echoed on the face of the other.
Sitting together on an overstuffed sofa in the small hours of the morning, it seemed like the horrors of MI6 and their everyday lives could be pushed aside, the adrenalin from the day fading into the distant sound of London traffic.