FIC: James Bond - "Time Sensitive"
Dec. 16th, 2012 09:09 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
fajrdrako_ficTitle: Time Sensitive
Author:fajrdrako
Fandom: James Bond, "Skyfall"
Characters: James Bond, Q
Rating: G
Length: 607 words
Disclaimer: Not mine, no claims.
Notes: Cross-posted to my Dreamwidth account, my Livejournal account, my fanfic journal, and Archive of Our Own.
Time Sensitive
Q fretted.
He sat on a bench in Regent's Park, huddled in his anorak with his laptop on his knee. From this spot he could access just about every surveillance camera in the city – too many to bother, really, and the only ones that mattered were those in a radius of oh, say, a mile...
He frowned, concentrating. Bond had been on the com-link, right there, meeting an informant, receiving an envelope – it should have been a simple operation. And so it was, for the first bit.
Q didn't know what had gone wrong. Bond had picked up the material, and must have been halfway to the door when there was a shout – another shout – sounds of a fight. Ambush? Had their informant turned on them? Had he been compromised? Coerced? Co-opted?
Someone shouted again, and the audio went dead.
Bloody hell.
Still, Bond was good at getting out of a tight spot. He should have overpowered or eluded the enemy agents and be here with Q by now. He was not just due, but overdue. Repeated checking of the com-link didn't help. Q frantically searched for surveillance somewhere that might show where Bond had gone, his fingers flying over the keyboard. Where was he now? A radius of 50 metres... 100... nothing. Strangers in every camera. 120 metres. Nothing.
Q did not want to be the one to have to tell M that 007 had gone missing. He did another run-through of the security, forcing himself not to look up each time a passer-by approached. He knew Bond's footsteps. He didn't need to look.
Bond could take care of himself. That didn't mean he was invulnerable or infallible. He was lucky, you had to give him that: good at dodging bullets, good at going after a goal and reaching it. Good at escaping. Good at so many things, too many to mention. There was no reason to worry about him. If ever a man didn't warrant concern on the job, it was 007.
Q tried the com-link again. "Bond? Are you there? 007? What's going on?"
No answer. The line was dead. If the equipment was shattered again, Q would have a few sharp things to say. Bond was so careless with his electronics. With his weapons.
With his life.
No, that wasn't carelessness, Q reminded himself. That was courage. Different thing entirely. Bond had the right instincts, knew how to keep himself alive when most men would be done for. It was what made Bond the agent he was. Invaluable to MI6.
So where was he now?
(Did anyone's luck last forever?)
Q checked the street cameras again, methodically, moving along the perimeter of the area in concentric circles. Still was no sign of Bond. No sign of whatever enemy agents had been dogging him, either. Was that good or bad?
Worrying was unprofessional. He wasn't worried. But M would be unhappy if anything had gone wrong.
He tapped his fingers on the side of the keyboard in a random pattern. If anything had happened to Bond, he'd kill him for letting his guard down. He'd--
Bond came from behind and sat beside him, smirking. "Fancy a drink now? Q?" He said the name with a little inflection, half mockery, half affection. That drove Q mad, which was why he did it.
Q took a deep breath, snapping the laptop shut. He wasn't going to let Bond see how close he was to shaking in relief. Yeah, he needed a drink, all right.
When Bond smiled at him like that, he couldn't help smiling back.
Alive. Unharmed. Lucky once again.
Smug bastard.
- - -
Author:
fajrdrakoFandom: James Bond, "Skyfall"
Characters: James Bond, Q
Rating: G
Length: 607 words
Disclaimer: Not mine, no claims.
Notes: Cross-posted to my Dreamwidth account, my Livejournal account, my fanfic journal, and Archive of Our Own.
Time Sensitive
Q fretted.
He sat on a bench in Regent's Park, huddled in his anorak with his laptop on his knee. From this spot he could access just about every surveillance camera in the city – too many to bother, really, and the only ones that mattered were those in a radius of oh, say, a mile...
He frowned, concentrating. Bond had been on the com-link, right there, meeting an informant, receiving an envelope – it should have been a simple operation. And so it was, for the first bit.
Q didn't know what had gone wrong. Bond had picked up the material, and must have been halfway to the door when there was a shout – another shout – sounds of a fight. Ambush? Had their informant turned on them? Had he been compromised? Coerced? Co-opted?
Someone shouted again, and the audio went dead.
Bloody hell.
Still, Bond was good at getting out of a tight spot. He should have overpowered or eluded the enemy agents and be here with Q by now. He was not just due, but overdue. Repeated checking of the com-link didn't help. Q frantically searched for surveillance somewhere that might show where Bond had gone, his fingers flying over the keyboard. Where was he now? A radius of 50 metres... 100... nothing. Strangers in every camera. 120 metres. Nothing.
Q did not want to be the one to have to tell M that 007 had gone missing. He did another run-through of the security, forcing himself not to look up each time a passer-by approached. He knew Bond's footsteps. He didn't need to look.
Bond could take care of himself. That didn't mean he was invulnerable or infallible. He was lucky, you had to give him that: good at dodging bullets, good at going after a goal and reaching it. Good at escaping. Good at so many things, too many to mention. There was no reason to worry about him. If ever a man didn't warrant concern on the job, it was 007.
Q tried the com-link again. "Bond? Are you there? 007? What's going on?"
No answer. The line was dead. If the equipment was shattered again, Q would have a few sharp things to say. Bond was so careless with his electronics. With his weapons.
With his life.
No, that wasn't carelessness, Q reminded himself. That was courage. Different thing entirely. Bond had the right instincts, knew how to keep himself alive when most men would be done for. It was what made Bond the agent he was. Invaluable to MI6.
So where was he now?
(Did anyone's luck last forever?)
Q checked the street cameras again, methodically, moving along the perimeter of the area in concentric circles. Still was no sign of Bond. No sign of whatever enemy agents had been dogging him, either. Was that good or bad?
Worrying was unprofessional. He wasn't worried. But M would be unhappy if anything had gone wrong.
He tapped his fingers on the side of the keyboard in a random pattern. If anything had happened to Bond, he'd kill him for letting his guard down. He'd--
Bond came from behind and sat beside him, smirking. "Fancy a drink now? Q?" He said the name with a little inflection, half mockery, half affection. That drove Q mad, which was why he did it.
Q took a deep breath, snapping the laptop shut. He wasn't going to let Bond see how close he was to shaking in relief. Yeah, he needed a drink, all right.
When Bond smiled at him like that, he couldn't help smiling back.
Alive. Unharmed. Lucky once again.
Smug bastard.
- - -