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Q
It had been hot all week, the humidity making it uncomfortable. But tonight it had started to rain. Hot summer rain started, but then the lightning and thunder came and the winds, too. By midnight it had cooled off and was a passable temperature, even if it was pissing down a drizzle.
Bond had been sent to Paris by way of Algiers in order to locate Fazir Al Habib, a notorious gun runner. MI6 had gotten word he may be dabbling in other wares as well. Intel said he had gotten his hand on some engineered virus out of defunct Soviet vaults and was looking for a buyer. It was imperative, he'd been told, to acquire the biohazard.
He'd made contact with a man named Michele who had set up a meeting. But the briefcase hadn't come through and Bond had no money to show. The meeting was at 9am and he was in a bind, on the phone to the home office every hour.
He stood in his hotel room, watching the rain through an open window, pacing like a tiger. Surely they wouldn't leave him without money to show. They had made clear in no uncertain terms he needed to get this virus.
Bond had been sent to Paris by way of Algiers in order to locate Fazir Al Habib, a notorious gun runner. MI6 had gotten word he may be dabbling in other wares as well. Intel said he had gotten his hand on some engineered virus out of defunct Soviet vaults and was looking for a buyer. It was imperative, he'd been told, to acquire the biohazard.
He'd made contact with a man named Michele who had set up a meeting. But the briefcase hadn't come through and Bond had no money to show. The meeting was at 9am and he was in a bind, on the phone to the home office every hour.
He stood in his hotel room, watching the rain through an open window, pacing like a tiger. Surely they wouldn't leave him without money to show. They had made clear in no uncertain terms he needed to get this virus.
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"I think I'll shower first. Can save that bit of time in the morning. I've got time before the food comes. They said about an hour," he said and headed for the bathroom. The shower was grand, flat walk in with different spigots and heads, all very much expected in a luxury hotel like this. He undressed and stepped in, letting the rain head douse him.
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Q was tempted to join him, but he knew it was best to let Bond choose his outlets before a mission. Only the double-o truly knew what he needed right now.
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Bond was in the shower for quite some time. Part of it was washing, but the majority was him standing under the water. He meditated, in a way, running scenarios in his mind of how the morning would play out.
He finally emerged in a towel, beads of water on his shoulders. He started toward the bed but then there was a knock at the door.
The food on the trolley smelled amazing and Bond thanked the porter before he left.
"I ordered quite a bit. Come have something," he said.
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Q tapped away a moment longer, then reluctantly closed his laptop and joined the other man, taking some bread and cheese.
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Bond took some beef, some bread and cheese, and poured wine for them both. But his first course was, naturally, the caviar. If Bond had one weakness when it came to food it was good caviar. The toast points were perfectly crisp, the creme sweet and thick, and the caviar itself chilled and salty. Perfect.
"Are you setting things up?" he asked, nodding to the computer.
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"I'm making sure I can keep eyes on you tomorrow. Though if this is an assassination, you can do it in your sleep," Q admitted. "I just like taking precautions."
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"I hadn't come here planning an assassination. I'll adapt, but I wish there'd been more notice. Still...better than finding out at nine in the morning," he said.
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"It's chaos in the office. Seems like everything keeps breaking, M is in a mood, constantly... It's tiring," Q admitted.
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"When has he ever not been in a mood?" Bond asked. He sat down to eat. "It will get done. I'll get the virus and we can be on our way."
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"I look forward to returning home. Travel doesn't agree with me," Q said, picking at his food. He always ate plenty, but he had a way of just selecting random bits here and there until he was full.
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"You need to get over your fear of flying, Q," Bond replied. "But, in this case, I think we'd better get a car and take the chunnel. I don't want to take any risks with the virus. Certainly not taking it on a plane."
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"Yes, I'll get right on not worrying about plummeting to my death in tin can asap," Q said dryly, though he did perk up a little at the mention of returning home via chunnel.
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"Flying is perfectly safe o long as you're inside the airplane," Bond told him.
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"Which you are, perhaps, seventy percent of the time," Q quipped mildly.
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Bond tilted his head and winced a little, narrowing his eyes then shaking it off.
"Give me credit. Seventy five percent."
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"Seventy-three," Q allowed, still picking at the food.
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"Are we really negotiating this?" he asked. "I'm definitely inside a plane more than out."
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"I don't know, I've read a lot of reports involving airplane wings... And let's not even begin to factor in helicopters," Q added.
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"Helicopters are another thing entirely. Most of hem don't even have doors," Bond replied.
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"Definitely couldn't get me in one of those," Q said.
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"I would never assume I could," he replied. "Would you like some caviar? It's delicious."
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"I've never had it," Q admitted. "What does it taste like?" he asked.
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"It's salty," Bond said, moving to make up a toast point with a bit of creme and caviar on it. "It's one of my favorite things. Here, try it."
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Q hesitated, then took a bite. He wasn't sure he liked it, but he chewed thoughtfully.
"It's not bad, but a bit rich for my blood."
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"Some say it's an acquired taste," Bond replied. "And I know more than one person who can't stand the texture. I've always loved it. My mother would make me special small points when I was a boy..."
And then he cut that thought off abruptly.
"Champagne?"
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