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tower of light

April 2017

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007 - q

Nothing Like You (Skyfall, 00Q)

Title: Nothing Like You
Author: snowlight
Pairing: James Bond/Q
Disclaimer: Not mine don't sue blah blah blah.
Note: "Georgi Markov" refers to the Bulgarian dissident writer who was killed in 1978 London. An assassin injected poison into his body by using an umbrella tip.

Nothing Like You
(James Bond/Q)

He meets this Double-O-Seven not on a bench in the National Gallery but in his own office, with a print of Isle of the Dead firmly behind him on his wall.

And this Double-O-Seven isn't a man of all jagged edges and scars wrapped in an expensive suit. This one has a nondescript face that somehow appears ageless (no lines, no spot, no stubborn stubble) with soft-looking hands (no callus, no smell of gunpowder, no faintly showing veins) and steady coal-black eyes (no sharpness, no heat, no irises colored in a shocking blue).

All the more curious is the fact that this one is much younger—even younger than he. However, the Quartermaster makes it a point to never underestimate youth. After all, twenty years into holding this post, at the ripe old age of forty-four, he is still the youngest Quartermaster in MI6's history.

"Double-O-Seven," he says, offering his hand.

The young man's grip is firm. (All theirs are.) "Q."

He gives the agent the standard assortment of equipments and explains their respective uses. Then he hands over a sleek black umbrella.

"Georgi Markov?" The young man smiles at him politely.

The Q twenty years ago would have countered that comment with cutting irony, but this Q has little need for retorts as a weapon, now. "No. But the monsoon season is upon India," he smiles back, "and this one doesn't shoot ricin pellets, only tear gas. Lots of tear gas."


"He came in today," he says over his last cup of Earl Grey for the night, "The new appointment." New appointment, yes. Replacement, never.


Q turns and finds his white-haired partner lodged comfortably in the corner sofa, legs resting on the stool and briefing in hand. Peering at him from behind those reading glasses, the eyes of this (his) Double-O-Seven are still shockingly, shockingly blue.

"Quiet young bloke. Seemed to be up for the job. Got a little uppity about the umbrella, though—and do not say ‘I told you so'."

"Did he ask if he was supposed to poison somebody with it?"

"That definitely falls under ‘I told you so'."

"Well, fine then. As long as he returns it in one piece."

"He—" and here Q pauses, "he is nothing like you, thus I am rather hopeful that he would."

- End -