In The Cold Light Of Morning
I found this forgotten little fic buried on my computer, originally written nearly 2 years ago shortly after In The Wake Of Spectre was posted, and I think I had grand plans to turn it into a Q/Tanner series. Hopefully this little piece still stands up well enough on its own, and someone might enjoy it!
Q-branch was already starting to come to life in spite of the early hour but, as Tanner had predicted, the true depths of the bunker were still practically deserted, except for the slender figure of the quartermaster himself.
Even from a distance, Q looked wrecked, to put it mildly, collapsed behind his desk almost like a puppet who’d had all his strings cut. It had been two very long days and longer nights since the events on Westminster Bridge, and this was the first time Tanner had been able to escape the corridors of Whitehall long enough to see Q since he’d driven them both home as morning had broken on the immediate aftermath.
Tanner’s sharp footsteps echoed on the metallic floor of the bunker, but Q kept his head down over his desk even though he clearly wasn’t working, his hair mussed where he’d obviously been running his hands through it, until finally Tanner stood in front of him.
“Hello,” Tanner said softly, for want of a better opening line, and thankfully Q managed a smile as he blinked up.
“Good morning.” Q sounded his usual self at least, which loosened the knot of concern in Tanner’s chest a fraction. “You’ve heard, I take it? News travels fast in the wonderful and exciting world of espionage.”
Of course Q would know the main reason for Tanner’s visit, though that was far from the only reason he’d come down to the tunnels. Tanner found himself choosing his next words very carefully. “CCTV picked him up heading south out of London. Speeding, naturally. He can’t have been here long.”
It wasn’t quite a question, but it earned him a single, firm shake of the head from Q. “No. No, he certainly wasn’t. Barely five minutes in the end. He said there was one more thing he needed, and for a moment there I actually thought…”
That knot in his chest tightened again immediately, and Tanner felt his heart sink as Q huffed a pained little laugh. “Did he even say goodbye?” he asked quietly, dreading the answer, and sure enough -
“No. He didn’t even say ‘thank you’.”
Christ, but 007 was a cold man. In amongst the seemingly endless rounds of meetings and briefings they’d all been swept up in over the last two days, Bond had surprised them all by actually sticking to his decision and officially resigning from the service, signing the relevant forms and handing back the majority of his equipment. It was far too much to hope that he’d given everything back, of course, and Tanner knew that Q hadn’t even bothered to ask.
They’d all thought he’d gone, off to start a new life with Dr Swann by his side, but now there was this unexpected visit, apparently and perhaps unsurprisingly the final straw for their quartermaster.
“I’m sorry,” Tanner told Q, moving around to perch on the edge of the man’s overflowing desk close by his side. “I know how you felt about… well, I’m sorry he behaved like that towards you.”
Dark green eyes snapped up instantly, horror written clearly on Q’s expressive face as he immediately read between the lines. “You knew? About my… partiality?”
That was one word for it, certainly. Tanner would have called it a crush, personally, and he would have told Q it was absolutely fine, if ever he’d found a way to bring it up in conversation that wouldn’t have left them both deeply embarrassed. Everyone went through a period of having a crush on 007; it was practically a rite of passage in MI6. Even Tanner himself had been through it, albeit very briefly and many years earlier.
“I suspected,” he admitted eventually, and barely managed to swallow an unexpected laugh as Q let out a mortified sound and immediately buried his face in his folded arms.
“Does everyone know?” came the muffled question after a long moment of silence, and Tanner shook his head in response before realising Q hadn’t raised his head so couldn’t have seen.
“I don’t think so, no.” He rested one hand gently between Q’s shoulder-blades in an attempt at reassurance, feeling the slender man practically vibrating with tension. “I think Eve suspects, though she’s never actually said. No one else knows, Q, I’m sure of it.” He wasn’t all that sure, really, but he’d never admit as much to the embarrassed quartermaster.
“Frankly, I’d be worried if Eve hadn’t figured it out longer before I did.” Some of the tension seemed to fade but somehow Tanner knew what the younger man would ask next. “Did Bond know, do you think?”
And how could Tanner possibly answer that question? If Bond had known, then coming back for the car and leaving without so much as a simple ‘thanks’ was unspeakably cruel, even for a ruthless operative like 007. If he hadn’t known, though, then he’d been unbelievably blind to a certain extent, which was somehow worse.
To Tanner’s eyes, it had been almost painfully obvious at times - the way Q acted around 007 was noticeably different from the way the man was at any other time, flustered rather than calm and steady, giggly rather than full of sarcastic humour - but he supposed it was conceivably possible that Bond really hadn’t noticed. Perhaps he’d simply become too used to having men and women fall at his feet to even consider the true feelings of his geeky young quartermaster.
There was nothing Tanner could say to comfort Q or ease his embarrassment, and the silence in the bunker held until finally the quartermaster heaved a pained sigh and sat up, dislodging Tanner’s hand from his back as he did so. He straightened his glasses, ran a hand through hair that was really beyond salvage, and squared his shoulders with obvious determination.
“Bloody hell, I need a drink,” Q muttered, and Tanner huffed a surprised laugh as he folded his arms across his chest.
“You do realise it’s barely half seven in the morning?” he pointed out, but Q just shrugged, a weak version of his usual impish grin appearing on his face.
“I haven’t actually been to bed yet, so I think I deserve a nightcap.”
Q had been pulling far too many all-nighters over the last few weeks, even before the most recent events, but Tanner was hardly in a position to criticise. “Would you settle for breakfast?” he suggested instead, pushing to his feet. “My treat?”
There wasn’t much Tanner could do to fix the mess Spectre had left behind, nor to ease the burden of work weighing heavily on Mallory’s shoulders, or Q’s shoulders, or even his own shoulders. But there was something about Q that made Tanner want to take care of him - there wasn’t time yet to analyse his feelings in more depth, though perhaps that time was close - and making sure Q was fed and rested was a good place to start.
“I shouldn’t.” Q stared down at his desk, with its piles of paperwork and laptop no doubt containing hundreds of unread emails, as well as locked boxes of equipment ready to be checked in and doled out. “Too much to do, really, and I’ve got three operatives to outfit this morning.”
“Come on, an hour won’t make much difference either way.” Tanner nudged the quartermaster gently with an elbow, glad when Q’s smile grew a little wider and a fraction stronger. “Maybe if we ask nicely they’ll even do us a Bloody Mary or two, and we can call it an early brunch.”
And that seemed enough to convince Q, as he immediately pushed to his feet too and reached for his coat. “Bill Tanner, I do like how you think, I must say.”
Before Q could even think about changing his mind, Tanner draped an arm around his shoulders to guide him away from the overflowing desk. Once they were safely away he’d get a message to one of the quartermaster’s highly capable deputies: yes, Q needed breakfast, but then he needed a day off. Saving the world could wait.
Q-branch was already starting to come to life in spite of the early hour but, as Tanner had predicted, the true depths of the bunker were still practically deserted, except for the slender figure of the quartermaster himself.
Even from a distance, Q looked wrecked, to put it mildly, collapsed behind his desk almost like a puppet who’d had all his strings cut. It had been two very long days and longer nights since the events on Westminster Bridge, and this was the first time Tanner had been able to escape the corridors of Whitehall long enough to see Q since he’d driven them both home as morning had broken on the immediate aftermath.
Tanner’s sharp footsteps echoed on the metallic floor of the bunker, but Q kept his head down over his desk even though he clearly wasn’t working, his hair mussed where he’d obviously been running his hands through it, until finally Tanner stood in front of him.
“Hello,” Tanner said softly, for want of a better opening line, and thankfully Q managed a smile as he blinked up.
“Good morning.” Q sounded his usual self at least, which loosened the knot of concern in Tanner’s chest a fraction. “You’ve heard, I take it? News travels fast in the wonderful and exciting world of espionage.”
Of course Q would know the main reason for Tanner’s visit, though that was far from the only reason he’d come down to the tunnels. Tanner found himself choosing his next words very carefully. “CCTV picked him up heading south out of London. Speeding, naturally. He can’t have been here long.”
It wasn’t quite a question, but it earned him a single, firm shake of the head from Q. “No. No, he certainly wasn’t. Barely five minutes in the end. He said there was one more thing he needed, and for a moment there I actually thought…”
That knot in his chest tightened again immediately, and Tanner felt his heart sink as Q huffed a pained little laugh. “Did he even say goodbye?” he asked quietly, dreading the answer, and sure enough -
“No. He didn’t even say ‘thank you’.”
Christ, but 007 was a cold man. In amongst the seemingly endless rounds of meetings and briefings they’d all been swept up in over the last two days, Bond had surprised them all by actually sticking to his decision and officially resigning from the service, signing the relevant forms and handing back the majority of his equipment. It was far too much to hope that he’d given everything back, of course, and Tanner knew that Q hadn’t even bothered to ask.
They’d all thought he’d gone, off to start a new life with Dr Swann by his side, but now there was this unexpected visit, apparently and perhaps unsurprisingly the final straw for their quartermaster.
“I’m sorry,” Tanner told Q, moving around to perch on the edge of the man’s overflowing desk close by his side. “I know how you felt about… well, I’m sorry he behaved like that towards you.”
Dark green eyes snapped up instantly, horror written clearly on Q’s expressive face as he immediately read between the lines. “You knew? About my… partiality?”
That was one word for it, certainly. Tanner would have called it a crush, personally, and he would have told Q it was absolutely fine, if ever he’d found a way to bring it up in conversation that wouldn’t have left them both deeply embarrassed. Everyone went through a period of having a crush on 007; it was practically a rite of passage in MI6. Even Tanner himself had been through it, albeit very briefly and many years earlier.
“I suspected,” he admitted eventually, and barely managed to swallow an unexpected laugh as Q let out a mortified sound and immediately buried his face in his folded arms.
“Does everyone know?” came the muffled question after a long moment of silence, and Tanner shook his head in response before realising Q hadn’t raised his head so couldn’t have seen.
“I don’t think so, no.” He rested one hand gently between Q’s shoulder-blades in an attempt at reassurance, feeling the slender man practically vibrating with tension. “I think Eve suspects, though she’s never actually said. No one else knows, Q, I’m sure of it.” He wasn’t all that sure, really, but he’d never admit as much to the embarrassed quartermaster.
“Frankly, I’d be worried if Eve hadn’t figured it out longer before I did.” Some of the tension seemed to fade but somehow Tanner knew what the younger man would ask next. “Did Bond know, do you think?”
And how could Tanner possibly answer that question? If Bond had known, then coming back for the car and leaving without so much as a simple ‘thanks’ was unspeakably cruel, even for a ruthless operative like 007. If he hadn’t known, though, then he’d been unbelievably blind to a certain extent, which was somehow worse.
To Tanner’s eyes, it had been almost painfully obvious at times - the way Q acted around 007 was noticeably different from the way the man was at any other time, flustered rather than calm and steady, giggly rather than full of sarcastic humour - but he supposed it was conceivably possible that Bond really hadn’t noticed. Perhaps he’d simply become too used to having men and women fall at his feet to even consider the true feelings of his geeky young quartermaster.
There was nothing Tanner could say to comfort Q or ease his embarrassment, and the silence in the bunker held until finally the quartermaster heaved a pained sigh and sat up, dislodging Tanner’s hand from his back as he did so. He straightened his glasses, ran a hand through hair that was really beyond salvage, and squared his shoulders with obvious determination.
“Bloody hell, I need a drink,” Q muttered, and Tanner huffed a surprised laugh as he folded his arms across his chest.
“You do realise it’s barely half seven in the morning?” he pointed out, but Q just shrugged, a weak version of his usual impish grin appearing on his face.
“I haven’t actually been to bed yet, so I think I deserve a nightcap.”
Q had been pulling far too many all-nighters over the last few weeks, even before the most recent events, but Tanner was hardly in a position to criticise. “Would you settle for breakfast?” he suggested instead, pushing to his feet. “My treat?”
There wasn’t much Tanner could do to fix the mess Spectre had left behind, nor to ease the burden of work weighing heavily on Mallory’s shoulders, or Q’s shoulders, or even his own shoulders. But there was something about Q that made Tanner want to take care of him - there wasn’t time yet to analyse his feelings in more depth, though perhaps that time was close - and making sure Q was fed and rested was a good place to start.
“I shouldn’t.” Q stared down at his desk, with its piles of paperwork and laptop no doubt containing hundreds of unread emails, as well as locked boxes of equipment ready to be checked in and doled out. “Too much to do, really, and I’ve got three operatives to outfit this morning.”
“Come on, an hour won’t make much difference either way.” Tanner nudged the quartermaster gently with an elbow, glad when Q’s smile grew a little wider and a fraction stronger. “Maybe if we ask nicely they’ll even do us a Bloody Mary or two, and we can call it an early brunch.”
And that seemed enough to convince Q, as he immediately pushed to his feet too and reached for his coat. “Bill Tanner, I do like how you think, I must say.”
Before Q could even think about changing his mind, Tanner draped an arm around his shoulders to guide him away from the overflowing desk. Once they were safely away he’d get a message to one of the quartermaster’s highly capable deputies: yes, Q needed breakfast, but then he needed a day off. Saving the world could wait.