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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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"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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Q so badly wanted James to say more, but knew better than to push. Bond shared things in his own time, always.
"Please," Q nodded, his gaze lingering on the double-o a beat longer.
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Bond poured two glasses and took one to the bedside to hand to Q.
"Here's to the mission going well," he said, and touched his glass to Q's.
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Q smiled as their glasses clinked, then took a long sip.
"I'm sure it will. I mean, one of our missions has to."
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"It would really be nice to have no snags for once, But if I'm killing a man in a bistro I'm going to guess this won't go off all that simply," he replied, then drained his glass. It was good champagne. The tipsy feeling he got from swallowing it all down was even better.
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"If it did though, just imagine. We could go home early, have dinner somewhere lush, see a film... Bliss," Q sighed.
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"Well if that's on the table then I'll do my best to make this as clean as possible. We could go to the Ritz," Bond said. "What sort of film?"