Fanfiction: Albedo 3/? (James Bond - Skyfall)
Title: "Albedo 3/?"
Status: WIP
Fandom: James Bond (Craig!Bond; Movieverse)
Pairing(s)/Character(s): James Bond/Q; M (Gareth Mallory), Eve Moneypenny, Bill Tanner, minor OCs
Disclaimer: The James Bond Franchise belongs to MGM and Ian Fleming, not mine, no claim.
Rating: T
Genre: Alternate Universe, Sentinel/Guide, spirit animals, H/C, angst, humor, slash, 00Q
Warnings: unbeta'ed, canon-typical violence, language
Summary: A butterfly in Q-branch is a rare sight, spirit or not.
Note: "Albedo" is a collection of drabbles and one-shots, situated in the same AU, as such each part is a stand-alone and complete.
AN: See a pic of it here.
Part One Part Two Part Four Part Five Part Six Part Seven Part Eight Part Nine Part Ten
The Start Of Something New
One workplace in the R&D department of MI6's Q-branch was still illuminated by stark white light despite the late hour. Beyond that circle of activity the other stations were powered down for the night; employees long gone.
Q enjoyed the silence, though he made it a rule to not indulge himself too often. Allowing his performance to suffer due to sleep deprivation would have been hardly professional, after all.
He would miss the freedom to come down here and work on his pet projects whenever he pleased, but Q looked forward to his new duties, including handling the 00-agents out in the field. That three of them were Sentinels would only add to the challenge.
He took another sip of his cooling tea, attention fixed on the screen before him, teeming with lines of code. Sadly, his tinkering with explosives had been interrupted. He added a command, typing one handed. The aroma of bergamot was heavy on his tongue, the amber brew strong and undiluted by sugar or milk, just as he preferred.
Immersed as he was in cracking the firewall of an American tycoon whose business transactions had been red flagged by an automatic search program, it took Q a moment to realize that he had company.
He finally looked up when something fluttered through the cone of light above him, casting a shadow over his typing hands; then his face. A small butterfly was tumbling around the computer screens as if hesitating to settle down. When it did its wings spread out for balance, showing its colours.
Q pushed his glasses up and bent forward to get a closer look, intrigued by the display that pushed a sense of determination against his shields.
It was a cupido minimus, commonly known as a 'Small Blue' in Britain, belonging to the family lycanenidae, if he remembered correctly. Its wings were the typical dark brown of its species, speckled with blue suffusions that shimmered in the fluorescent light, while the margin was white. The wings closed for a second, revealing silver grey undersides with black dots.
“And who might you belong to?” Q wondered aloud, watching the insects slow process over the slippery casing. It came perilously close to the screen's edge. “Whoever it is should take better care of you, or rather himself, don't you agree, little one?”
As a matter of fact, while still beautiful in an understated, easily overlooked way, the butterfly had seen better days. Its bright margin was frayed, the left hindwing more so than the other three, and lines of dead scales littered its entirety like old scars.
There was an answering flicker of emotions, come and gone too quickly for Q to get an accurate reading. It would not have been wise to lower his shields, considering that MI6 well saw the benefits of hiring both Sentinels and Guides.
“Careful, there, little one.”
He had barely said the words when the butterfly's spindly legs lost traction. It slipped but caught itself with difficulty and Q offered his hand as a safe landing place.
It hovered over his fingertip and for once Q went with his instinct, projecting calm and the reassurance that he meant no harm. The butterfly shied away in sudden alarm and dissolved, its form collapsing in a cloud of dark particles; a moment later Q heard it himself - the sound of approaching footsteps.
Q had returned to his work by the time Bond strode in. Of all the 00-agents his presence was the most familiar one, if only because of its razor edge intensity that demanded attention.
“007.”
“...Q.”
He felt Bond's gaze between his shoulder blades as the older man tried to judge his mood; Q's greeting had been laced with anger at the sudden interruption. He could see Bond's reflection in the screen before him, the dark circles under his searching eyes, the bloodied lapels of his suit.
Putting two and two together was hardly a challenge.
“Is there anything I can help you with?” Q asked, more civil.
“Just wanted to give you these,” Bond said. He came closer, mindful to keep his distance, as required when in contact with a Guide, and set his Walther PPK and the radio down on Q's desk. “Here.”
He stepped back, but Q had noticed the flare of Bond's nostrils and felt the barest prodding to test his shields. He did not react to the breach of protocol, unwilling to take the bait. He picked up the gun, giving it a quick once-over. It had miraculously survived the mission with hardly a scratch, despite Bond's well documented reputation.
“You can leave now, if that was all.”
Bond made no move to do so. “I see you are besides yourself with joy.”
“Returning your equipment in working order should be the norm, not reason for celebration,” Q informed him tartly.
“Your shields are strong.”
“Your headache will be even stronger. - Don't ever do that again.”
It was a blatant warning, too aggressive perhaps for what had been nothing more than a cursory check of his abilities, but the scars in his mind burned with reawakened memories and he preferred to nip this kind of behaviour in the bud right away when dealing with an overbearing Sentinel.
There was a moment of silence, the hesitation so unlike from what he expected of Bond that Q's fingers stilled on the keyboard and he instinctively braced himself, hands pressed flat on his desk.
Bond must have picked up on something, what exactly Q could not be sure of, but his voice lost much of its coldness. “Understood. I'm looking forward to working with you, Quartermaster.”
Q turned at the whisper of clothing. Recognizing the challenge within the peace offering he took the offered hand, his grip firm and sure.
“Likewise, 007.”
This great purple butterfly,
In the prison of my hands,
Has a learning in his eye
Not a poor fool understands.
~William Butler Yeats, "Another Song of a Fool"
Status: WIP
Fandom: James Bond (Craig!Bond; Movieverse)
Pairing(s)/Character(s): James Bond/Q; M (Gareth Mallory), Eve Moneypenny, Bill Tanner, minor OCs
Disclaimer: The James Bond Franchise belongs to MGM and Ian Fleming, not mine, no claim.
Rating: T
Genre: Alternate Universe, Sentinel/Guide, spirit animals, H/C, angst, humor, slash, 00Q
Warnings: unbeta'ed, canon-typical violence, language
Summary: A butterfly in Q-branch is a rare sight, spirit or not.
Note: "Albedo" is a collection of drabbles and one-shots, situated in the same AU, as such each part is a stand-alone and complete.
AN: See a pic of it here.
Part One Part Two Part Four Part Five Part Six Part Seven Part Eight Part Nine Part Ten
The Start Of Something New
One workplace in the R&D department of MI6's Q-branch was still illuminated by stark white light despite the late hour. Beyond that circle of activity the other stations were powered down for the night; employees long gone.
Q enjoyed the silence, though he made it a rule to not indulge himself too often. Allowing his performance to suffer due to sleep deprivation would have been hardly professional, after all.
He would miss the freedom to come down here and work on his pet projects whenever he pleased, but Q looked forward to his new duties, including handling the 00-agents out in the field. That three of them were Sentinels would only add to the challenge.
He took another sip of his cooling tea, attention fixed on the screen before him, teeming with lines of code. Sadly, his tinkering with explosives had been interrupted. He added a command, typing one handed. The aroma of bergamot was heavy on his tongue, the amber brew strong and undiluted by sugar or milk, just as he preferred.
Immersed as he was in cracking the firewall of an American tycoon whose business transactions had been red flagged by an automatic search program, it took Q a moment to realize that he had company.
He finally looked up when something fluttered through the cone of light above him, casting a shadow over his typing hands; then his face. A small butterfly was tumbling around the computer screens as if hesitating to settle down. When it did its wings spread out for balance, showing its colours.
Q pushed his glasses up and bent forward to get a closer look, intrigued by the display that pushed a sense of determination against his shields.
It was a cupido minimus, commonly known as a 'Small Blue' in Britain, belonging to the family lycanenidae, if he remembered correctly. Its wings were the typical dark brown of its species, speckled with blue suffusions that shimmered in the fluorescent light, while the margin was white. The wings closed for a second, revealing silver grey undersides with black dots.
“And who might you belong to?” Q wondered aloud, watching the insects slow process over the slippery casing. It came perilously close to the screen's edge. “Whoever it is should take better care of you, or rather himself, don't you agree, little one?”
As a matter of fact, while still beautiful in an understated, easily overlooked way, the butterfly had seen better days. Its bright margin was frayed, the left hindwing more so than the other three, and lines of dead scales littered its entirety like old scars.
There was an answering flicker of emotions, come and gone too quickly for Q to get an accurate reading. It would not have been wise to lower his shields, considering that MI6 well saw the benefits of hiring both Sentinels and Guides.
“Careful, there, little one.”
He had barely said the words when the butterfly's spindly legs lost traction. It slipped but caught itself with difficulty and Q offered his hand as a safe landing place.
It hovered over his fingertip and for once Q went with his instinct, projecting calm and the reassurance that he meant no harm. The butterfly shied away in sudden alarm and dissolved, its form collapsing in a cloud of dark particles; a moment later Q heard it himself - the sound of approaching footsteps.
Q had returned to his work by the time Bond strode in. Of all the 00-agents his presence was the most familiar one, if only because of its razor edge intensity that demanded attention.
“007.”
“...Q.”
He felt Bond's gaze between his shoulder blades as the older man tried to judge his mood; Q's greeting had been laced with anger at the sudden interruption. He could see Bond's reflection in the screen before him, the dark circles under his searching eyes, the bloodied lapels of his suit.
Putting two and two together was hardly a challenge.
“Is there anything I can help you with?” Q asked, more civil.
“Just wanted to give you these,” Bond said. He came closer, mindful to keep his distance, as required when in contact with a Guide, and set his Walther PPK and the radio down on Q's desk. “Here.”
He stepped back, but Q had noticed the flare of Bond's nostrils and felt the barest prodding to test his shields. He did not react to the breach of protocol, unwilling to take the bait. He picked up the gun, giving it a quick once-over. It had miraculously survived the mission with hardly a scratch, despite Bond's well documented reputation.
“You can leave now, if that was all.”
Bond made no move to do so. “I see you are besides yourself with joy.”
“Returning your equipment in working order should be the norm, not reason for celebration,” Q informed him tartly.
“Your shields are strong.”
“Your headache will be even stronger. - Don't ever do that again.”
It was a blatant warning, too aggressive perhaps for what had been nothing more than a cursory check of his abilities, but the scars in his mind burned with reawakened memories and he preferred to nip this kind of behaviour in the bud right away when dealing with an overbearing Sentinel.
There was a moment of silence, the hesitation so unlike from what he expected of Bond that Q's fingers stilled on the keyboard and he instinctively braced himself, hands pressed flat on his desk.
Bond must have picked up on something, what exactly Q could not be sure of, but his voice lost much of its coldness. “Understood. I'm looking forward to working with you, Quartermaster.”
Q turned at the whisper of clothing. Recognizing the challenge within the peace offering he took the offered hand, his grip firm and sure.
“Likewise, 007.”
This great purple butterfly,
In the prison of my hands,
Has a learning in his eye
Not a poor fool understands.
~William Butler Yeats, "Another Song of a Fool"