Olivia
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bond. james bond.
[ classified ]
⠀
you think i’d lay down and die? oh no, not i. i will survive.
————
i have never understood where the line is drawn， between sacrifice and self-slaughter.
———— morning.
“good because they really don’t like that.”
teasing laced tone, drawing himself up back onto his feet.
“plus the women part was for i, relax. two pints in seemingly the only shade in london might get you to forget about work for an hour.”
“with lots and lots of shade, then.”
q’s finger pushed the glasses up his nose — smiling at the thought of james with a beer in his hand, hunting for his next situationship.
“and, for the record, i don’t stare at women.”
“aren’t you a bundle of fun. come on, having a beer outside a london pub as the sun beats down. women, men looking good too what’s not to love?”
another glance to watch. five past. forefinger presses send. closing down application.
“london and milan aren’t the same thing. scorching weather should stay where it’s from. we don’t need so much sun.”
he’s singing a few pieces of paper and stapling them together.
“can’t say i share that sentiment.”
glance to wristwatch, one minute past five. offering for a couple more minutes attention draws back to q.
“london is finally acting like south of the channel and i indeed to enjoy it. while i can.”
“mhm … i don’t enjoy scorching weather.”
though it is nice to have some sunshine, he’ll admit it.
gaze locked upon screen, pulling up pre-wrote mission report leaving it sitting ready to be submitted. as always he holds it until last possible second before pressing send.
“glorious out there. need to get out this dark hole now and again and feel the warmth.”
“ah, there you are.”
closing the door that leads to the supply closet, he’s back to sit back at his desk.
“enjoyed the sun?”
five to five shows on omega watch upon agents wrist. man who’s lost his suit jacket, tie and sleeves rolled up to elbow ditch wonders back into q-branch.
“afternoon q.”
dropping at empty chair to nearest desk that had a computer. logging in, uncaring who was using it.
cue some laughter as he shakes his head, incredulous.
“sure. that’ll make him happy.”
another sip, and he’s back to being focused on his work.
“five hundred hours, tomorrow. got it.”
double-oh calls over his shoulder as disappearing out the door in a fast step. deliberate, teasing.
“ah, before you go. m asked for your paperwork to be handed back by five!!”
and that* brings a very satisfactory grub to the quartermaster’s lips.
ever the dramatic, bond stands to attention giving a salute before relaxing posture back just as quick.
“copy that. i’ll be in tanners office if you need me.”
spinning on heels to retreat steps back out of the branch.
roll of eyes.
“there will be a fun car with fun gadgets, i’d you let me finish coding the bloody thing. now, shoo.”
“a handgun, that’s it?”
brow arches as a dry short snippet of laughter slips out.
“m got me on lockdown for new toys? a nod in conformation is enough, then you’ve technically not told me…”
“hmh… there is a new glock, waiting to be tested out, if you want? otherwise, i’m afraid i’m still working on the rest.”
dainty fingers wrap around the paper cup, taking a sip from it.
“thanks… what’s new, fun and expensive ‘round here i can try out?”
fair trade off. finger nails take light work of pealing off foil shoving disk of chocolate into mouth in one swift movement.
looking up from the line of code —— smiling as ever. hand extending to offer the medal (chocolate).
“morning, double—oh—seven.”
tut. fine.
steaming hot take away cup of tea; just as the quartermaster prefers is placed in between technology on the man’s desk.
“morning!”
chocolate medal it is, then.
good job, bond. now. tea please. :)
had been more rather hoping for a gold star — but a medal would suffice…
does he perhaps* want a medal? many people clock in before nine.
high change of running on no sleep and countless amounts of coffee to combat the incoming hangover, but minor details…
it’s a miracle.
monday morning, in the office before nine? what a novelty.
if you’re lucky might be two in it for you…
what can i say? i’ve been promised a pint.
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