FIC: James Bond - "The Official Inquiry"
Title: The Official Inquiry
Author:
fajrdrako
Fandom: James Bond, "Skyfall"
Characters: James Bond, Q
Rating: G
Length: 1,213 words
Disclaimer: Not mine, no claims.
Notes: Post-Skyfall. Cross-posted to my Dreamwidth account, my Livejournal account, The 00Q Community, my fanfic journal, and Archive of Our Own.
The Official Inquiry
Q sat in his cell, staring at nothing.
He had betrayed MI6. He had betrayed everything he believed in. Not on purpose - nothing as clever as that. He had let Silva inside the MI6 firewalls and security because, God help him, he was trying to impress 007. Trying to show what a hot-shot high-tech wizard he was, the one who could out-code Silva. Silva had run rings around him.
Silva had shown him up for the fool he was.
By rights, Q should have been the one in the sights of Silva's guns, but he wasn't. He wasn't even on Silva's radar. He was a minor pawn in a larger game, a spear carrier incidental to the plot. Silva only had to sit back and wait for him to be stupid.
How had Silva known?
He'd made a mistake so elementary a child would know better. Then Bond had to clean up his mess. That was no way to impress 007. Silva had escaped; Mallory was wounded; six people were killed in Silva's little bloodbath, another dozen in hospital, one touch and go. On his head, all of it.
Q had thought he was so clever. Having failed to keep Silva out, he'd then acted against the wishes of the Prime Minister and helped 007 kidnap M. No way now to keep it all from the PM. The inquiry was pending and he was, meanwhile, under house arrest... HQ arrest. If he could convince them that he hadn't been actively working with Silva, he would stay out of prison. He'd be lucky to keep his job. Whether or not they let him stay at MI6, he'd be a pariah. Who'd want to associate with him? Or speak up for him? He got along well with his colleagues in Q division, but it was a competitive business, and his slip-up would mean someone else's promotion.
All his life, he'd been the smart one, the whiz kid. Never before in his life had he been so starstruck and dazzled by anyone that he had ever acted without thought, and plugged when he should have unplugged... unplugged when he should have plugged....
It had all ended in M's death. He was responsible. It was Silva's bullet that had killed her, but if Q hadn't caused his escape, he couldn't have fired it. 007 had failed to prevent it, but he had tried. M herself had set it all in motion by making hard choices in an impossible job, and really, had kept England safe for a long time, but she had it under control, with Silva under lock and key.
In a better world, Q would have to answer to her, but she was dead now. Mallory had supported him once, in the midst of the action, but would not dare to - or care to - do it again. Q was about to face his own tribunal now, and it would not be a jury of his peers with a top-flight barrister. He would be the youth who screwed up facing the higher powers of MI6. The Director, a few Ministers, maybe. Mallory, new in his job, needing to look good. Mallory hardly knew him, but knew he was guilty and what he was guilty of. He had no real defence. “I acted without thinking, sir. I wanted to make 007 think I was clever. Sir. Because I have a crush on him bigger than Scotland and he was watching me.”
No, that wouldn't do.
They'd thought him too inexperienced for his job, at first, but he was good at it, and had already proved himself. M had spoken for him - “Let's give him a chance.” He wasn't so young, but his few predecessors had been aging men fighting off retirement.
Spots, 007 had said. He almost laughed out loud remembering, which was better than blubbering in self-pity. 007 had an eye for weaknesses, and an eye for strengths, and Q had got a subtle revenge in failing to give 007 the magic exploding pen he'd wanted.
He should have stuck with the exploding pen, and to hell with virtual pyrotechnics.
He'd pretty much shot himself in the head, and though Bond didn't seem to have held it against him, he'd be lucky if 007 ever bothered to speak to him again. He'd made Bond notice him, clever boy that he was. 007 would remember him (if at all) as the idiot who inadvertently helped Silva.
He toyed with the idea of saying he'd been Silva's accomplice all along. Treasonous, yes, but not quite as stupid as what he had done with the best of intentions...
No. It was just as stupid. Better to stick with the truth.
All his life, he'd wanted to be a spy. The effective sort. The sort that made a difference - not that he'd make the history books, because spies never do, but the sort whose actions make the events that make the history books. The kind of spy who keeps England free and safe. The kind of spy who makes it possible for regular people to go about their business without even thinking about the forces that could destroy it all, the madmen and terrorists out there in the darkness.
So what was he now? A failure.
He took a deep breath. Self-pitying, too. Idiot. The least he could do was face his tribunal like a man. “Yes, sir, I lost my head. Under pressure, I did the wrong thing. Yes, I knew better.”
He wondered, vaguely, whether spies who were too stupid to live got shot quietly by one of the MI6 elite, under a cover story involving courage, with a glowing obituary. Or maybe no obituary at all.
He could hardly expect otherwise.
His guard came to the door. “Someone to see you, Quartermaster.”
That was a surprise. “Who is it?”
“Bond.”
Q lept to his feet. “007? Here?”
“Why not?” It was 007 himself, standing by the barred metal door and nodding at the guard, who was unlocking it. The door swung open, but not for Bond to come in. He stood aside for Q to go out.
“Why?” said Q, not moving.
“Stay if you want,” said 007 mildly, “but M is waiting for you upstairs. He wants to give you a briefing.”
Q thought about it. M was Mallory now, not the real M, not the old M. He owed Q nothing. He hadn't even hired him in the first place. He could wash his hands of him, carry on with someone more competent. "What about the official inquiry?"
“Cancelled. Mallory and I discussed it. The charges are already dropped. You'll be on probation, and he'll rap your knuckles, but that'll be that. No one else will ever know exactly what happened.”
Q stared. Blue eyes gazed gently back. There was no reading 007 when he didn't want to be read. “You got him to pardon me?”
“Why would I do that? Don't look a gift horse in the mouth, and don't keep the horse waiting.”
He'd show them how good he could be. He wouldn't mess up again, and somehow 007 knew it. 007 had saved his career, even if he didn't want to talk about it.
Q followed Bond up the stairs, giddy with relief and resolve.
- - -
With thanks to maaseru for beta-reading this story.
Author:
fajrdrako
Fandom: James Bond, "Skyfall"
Characters: James Bond, Q
Rating: G
Length: 1,213 words
Disclaimer: Not mine, no claims.
Notes: Post-Skyfall. Cross-posted to my Dreamwidth account, my Livejournal account, The 00Q Community, my fanfic journal, and Archive of Our Own.
The Official Inquiry
Q sat in his cell, staring at nothing.
He had betrayed MI6. He had betrayed everything he believed in. Not on purpose - nothing as clever as that. He had let Silva inside the MI6 firewalls and security because, God help him, he was trying to impress 007. Trying to show what a hot-shot high-tech wizard he was, the one who could out-code Silva. Silva had run rings around him.
Silva had shown him up for the fool he was.
By rights, Q should have been the one in the sights of Silva's guns, but he wasn't. He wasn't even on Silva's radar. He was a minor pawn in a larger game, a spear carrier incidental to the plot. Silva only had to sit back and wait for him to be stupid.
How had Silva known?
He'd made a mistake so elementary a child would know better. Then Bond had to clean up his mess. That was no way to impress 007. Silva had escaped; Mallory was wounded; six people were killed in Silva's little bloodbath, another dozen in hospital, one touch and go. On his head, all of it.
Q had thought he was so clever. Having failed to keep Silva out, he'd then acted against the wishes of the Prime Minister and helped 007 kidnap M. No way now to keep it all from the PM. The inquiry was pending and he was, meanwhile, under house arrest... HQ arrest. If he could convince them that he hadn't been actively working with Silva, he would stay out of prison. He'd be lucky to keep his job. Whether or not they let him stay at MI6, he'd be a pariah. Who'd want to associate with him? Or speak up for him? He got along well with his colleagues in Q division, but it was a competitive business, and his slip-up would mean someone else's promotion.
All his life, he'd been the smart one, the whiz kid. Never before in his life had he been so starstruck and dazzled by anyone that he had ever acted without thought, and plugged when he should have unplugged... unplugged when he should have plugged....
It had all ended in M's death. He was responsible. It was Silva's bullet that had killed her, but if Q hadn't caused his escape, he couldn't have fired it. 007 had failed to prevent it, but he had tried. M herself had set it all in motion by making hard choices in an impossible job, and really, had kept England safe for a long time, but she had it under control, with Silva under lock and key.
In a better world, Q would have to answer to her, but she was dead now. Mallory had supported him once, in the midst of the action, but would not dare to - or care to - do it again. Q was about to face his own tribunal now, and it would not be a jury of his peers with a top-flight barrister. He would be the youth who screwed up facing the higher powers of MI6. The Director, a few Ministers, maybe. Mallory, new in his job, needing to look good. Mallory hardly knew him, but knew he was guilty and what he was guilty of. He had no real defence. “I acted without thinking, sir. I wanted to make 007 think I was clever. Sir. Because I have a crush on him bigger than Scotland and he was watching me.”
No, that wouldn't do.
They'd thought him too inexperienced for his job, at first, but he was good at it, and had already proved himself. M had spoken for him - “Let's give him a chance.” He wasn't so young, but his few predecessors had been aging men fighting off retirement.
Spots, 007 had said. He almost laughed out loud remembering, which was better than blubbering in self-pity. 007 had an eye for weaknesses, and an eye for strengths, and Q had got a subtle revenge in failing to give 007 the magic exploding pen he'd wanted.
He should have stuck with the exploding pen, and to hell with virtual pyrotechnics.
He'd pretty much shot himself in the head, and though Bond didn't seem to have held it against him, he'd be lucky if 007 ever bothered to speak to him again. He'd made Bond notice him, clever boy that he was. 007 would remember him (if at all) as the idiot who inadvertently helped Silva.
He toyed with the idea of saying he'd been Silva's accomplice all along. Treasonous, yes, but not quite as stupid as what he had done with the best of intentions...
No. It was just as stupid. Better to stick with the truth.
All his life, he'd wanted to be a spy. The effective sort. The sort that made a difference - not that he'd make the history books, because spies never do, but the sort whose actions make the events that make the history books. The kind of spy who keeps England free and safe. The kind of spy who makes it possible for regular people to go about their business without even thinking about the forces that could destroy it all, the madmen and terrorists out there in the darkness.
So what was he now? A failure.
He took a deep breath. Self-pitying, too. Idiot. The least he could do was face his tribunal like a man. “Yes, sir, I lost my head. Under pressure, I did the wrong thing. Yes, I knew better.”
He wondered, vaguely, whether spies who were too stupid to live got shot quietly by one of the MI6 elite, under a cover story involving courage, with a glowing obituary. Or maybe no obituary at all.
He could hardly expect otherwise.
His guard came to the door. “Someone to see you, Quartermaster.”
That was a surprise. “Who is it?”
“Bond.”
Q lept to his feet. “007? Here?”
“Why not?” It was 007 himself, standing by the barred metal door and nodding at the guard, who was unlocking it. The door swung open, but not for Bond to come in. He stood aside for Q to go out.
“Why?” said Q, not moving.
“Stay if you want,” said 007 mildly, “but M is waiting for you upstairs. He wants to give you a briefing.”
Q thought about it. M was Mallory now, not the real M, not the old M. He owed Q nothing. He hadn't even hired him in the first place. He could wash his hands of him, carry on with someone more competent. "What about the official inquiry?"
“Cancelled. Mallory and I discussed it. The charges are already dropped. You'll be on probation, and he'll rap your knuckles, but that'll be that. No one else will ever know exactly what happened.”
Q stared. Blue eyes gazed gently back. There was no reading 007 when he didn't want to be read. “You got him to pardon me?”
“Why would I do that? Don't look a gift horse in the mouth, and don't keep the horse waiting.”
He'd show them how good he could be. He wouldn't mess up again, and somehow 007 knew it. 007 had saved his career, even if he didn't want to talk about it.
Q followed Bond up the stairs, giddy with relief and resolve.
- - -
With thanks to maaseru for beta-reading this story.