consultingwriters

[consultingwriters]

Here it is... the final fic in the series. This time I have posted the cover art before the last chapter!

Reader beware, heed the warnings; here there be trauma.

(There is also a Discord Server for this fic, if anyone wants the link).

--

"I have been ready for sixteen years. I have been needed for sixteen years. I have experienced such pain as I did not know could be visited on the human mind - and after sixteen years of it, I would quite like to sleep.”

Panem is at war with itself: after five years of preparation, the revolution has finally begun. The Districts are fighting back, with District Thirteen's military behind them.

Emma Swan and Mycroft Holmes - 'the heart and mind of the revolution' - arrive in Thirteen hysterical and catatonic, respectively; but time waits for none of them, not even those who have lost everything. The mockingjay must sing; the war must be won.

By any means necessary.

"We are your children, and we will never forgive this."

[consultingwriters]

(Sorry for the delay in this)

The next instalment of the Hanging Tree series: A Necklace of Rope

"I regret this. I truly do."

The Third Quarter Quell has dawned. Twenty-four Victors returning to an Arena; a deathtrap for a specific set of Victors, and their would-be Mockingjay.

Thirty-six hours to survive.

It begins.

"Ladies and gentlemen - let the seventy-fifth annual Hunger Games begin!"

[consultingwriters]

Hey there,

No idea how active you guys still are here but I figured it's worth a shot: I've been following the Hanging tree series for ages and it is by far my favourite fanfiction ever. But the new cover sprt of stumps me- whose face is that? maybe it's obvious to anyone who watched ouat which i have not, but i just cannot figure it out. Based on the story so far, i thought it might be q or killian? but it doesn't look like them, at least to me. Sorry for rambling but im sort of lost and was wondering if yall could maybe help :'D

Hullo!!

Apologies, you're quite right, not the most active on tumblr these days but thank you for messaging (and apologies if it's been a while since you posted in!!) - this one's Killian. Colin O'Donaghue doesn't have the most obvious of profiles, according to Lex :P

Also, absolutely delighted you're enjoying Hanging Tree!! Lots more to come, I'm happy to say. Thank you very much indeed for reading and enjoying <3

Take care of yourself! Jen (and Lex!).

[consultingwriters]

And the next instalment of the Hanging Tree series: I Told You To Run

--- 

"The notion of change, of revolution… for the sake of all those we have already lost to the Capitol’s regime? For the friends and allies and lovers we have watched suffer at Snow’s hands; for those we have lost, and all those we have yet to lose? Yes. That, I can say with surety, is worth dying for."

Revolution is coming to Panem - along with a Quarter Quell. Time is running out in preparing Panem to survive, to win, a rebellion; one they cannot afford to lose. Everything they have dared to build stands on a precipice.

The countdown has begun.

"In short: it is not about you. It should be."

----

Read it here: I Told You To Run - Jen (ConsultingWriters) - Multifandom [Archive of Our Own]

[consultingwriters]

And the next instalment of the Hanging Tree series: We Met at Midnight

--- 

"We intend to remove and replace Snow’s authoritarian government and replace it with a viable alternative, whilst - to the best of our ability - minimising human loss. We anticipate full-scale rebellion, almost certainly necessitating a ground war; ideally focused primarily in the Capitol, though likely spanning the Districts."

"... Fuck."

Mycroft Holmes, Snow's once-protegé - along with a half-dozen of Panem's most infamous Victors - is starting a rebellion from within the President's seat of power. Ideally, without being executed for treason en route.

The Games continue, time moves as it can; life happens, around the corners.

"Fate is fickle enough, without allowing her leverage."

----

Read it here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/47331907/chapters/119264785

[consultingwriters]

Cover Art for the amazing Dead Men Call Out: https://archiveofourown.org/works/45432148

“I am unemployed, and my brother is in the Hunger Games. I am pursuing one of the vanishingly few occupations I enjoy that has yet to result in another person's incarceration, torture, or untimely demise. Humour me.”

Mycroft Holmes has resigned from President Snow's side.

The aftermath of all he has been is still only beginning to make itself known.

Today, the 70th Annual Hunger Games begins.

[consultingwriters]

No it’s not Breaking Dawn, thankfully, it is instead the cover art for Jen’s latest epic crossover fic! 

They Strung Up a Man 

"It’s Panem. Maybe in another world you could have been different, but you’re not. You can’t be. So - you’re right. Whatever you’ve done, everything you’ve ever done, you’re always right, and I hate you so much for it I could scream.”

 Mycroft Holmes, from District One, wins the 59th Hunger Games at the age of fourteen - joining a pool of Victors who do not trust him, entering the decadent netherworld of Panem's Capitol.Over the next decade, he becomes the backbone of Snow's Presidency. 

This is the genesis of a revolution.

Link here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/36125197 

Fandoms: Hunger Games, Sherlock, James Bond, and Once Upon A Time.

You don’t need to know all of the fandoms for this to make sense as a story, but as always, make sure to check the tags.

[consultingwriters]

First of all, I hope you are okay, it has been a while since you last posted. I have a little prompt. Q was send to a mission without Bond, he was kidnapped and tortured. After he is rescued, Bond has to deal with the aftermath. Thanks so much! Love u and miss u

Thank you, dear anon; my posting is now legendarily irregular, but I’m trying! Hope you enjoy this <3 Jen.

-

Q wouldn’t speak.

“... what...”

“If you ask me one more time, I will not be held responsible for my actions,” Q told him, eyes fixed somewhere in the distant, outside the window of their car; and it would have worked, had his tone not been horribly, painfully dull.

Bond continued driving for a few moment.

Q had been retrieved after a week and a half. Bond had not been on the extraction team. In fact, the mission was so highly classified he had sod-all in the way of information; Q had been compromised, captured, tortured, retrieved. The mission had been a failure of phenomenal proportions, with the only upside being that Q was not dead.

After two weeks in hospital, he had been released. He had barely spoken in that time.

“Q...”

“You want the details, and I am not prepared to disclose them,” Q told him, and finally there was something sharp, an edge somewhere that allowed Bond to know he was alive and had a sense of anger, emotion, feeling. “You will not pursue vicarious curiosity around it, nor patronise me with discussion regarding trauma and/or repression; I have a therapist for that. In short: you have not earned my pain.”

It was the longest speech Q had uttered in Bond’s hearing for quite a while, and it had a learned quality to it.

Bond pulled over.

Q glanced around, and for the slightest moment, Bond could see fear: Q was brave, yes, but he was not unfallible. He was not trained for this, to laugh and compartmentalise everything.

“I don’t care what happened, except what you choose to tell me, and I don’t expect you to tell me.”

“Then why ask.”

“I didn’t.”

“You keep asking...”

“... what do you need. What can I do. What do you want. How do you want to play this?” Bond repeated, the same types of questions; he was never going to ask inanities like ‘are you okay’ (because it was obvious) or ‘what happened’ (because as Q rightly stated, it wasn’t his to know). “You’ve been tortured. You don’t know what you’re doing.”

“Fuck you.”

“Not an insult, a fact - you are not trained or accustomed to this. Do you want me to pretend nothing happened? Because I can’t, and you can’t, so let’s not. To make jokes? I always prefer that option, Alec can’t stand it. Look after you, or let you test it out? I prefer the former, but try looking after Miller, she’ll eat you alive for being patronising. There are a lot of choices for how you want this to go, how you want me to behave, and I can’t predict it because that’s yours. All I ask is that you tell me and stop snapping at me for things I haven’t done, and won’t do.”

Q was eerily, painfully silent.

Bond let the moment hold.

“I really don’t want to talk about it.”

Bond smiled slightly. “Shockingly, I figured that much out for myself,” he told Q, with a gentle murmur of sarcasm; Q’s mouth mimicked the ghost of a smile.

Q’s expression crinkled very faintly, his voice soft on the admission: “I don’t know what I want. I don’t know how I feel.”

“That’s alright too,” Bond told him frankly. “The only option off the table is pretending nothing happened. You can’t do it, and you’ll hate that you can’t. I can’t do it, and I can’t pretend otherwise, I can see it. You can feel it. But you have to meet me halfway. I’ll do my best.”

Alarmingly, Q said absolutely nothing, and instead keeled sideways; Bond responded with reflexes born of a lifelong career in espionage, and Q leaned on him with a sigh, avoiding his injuries as best he could.

It took a moment to realise this was it: Q was asking for comfort.

Bond simply stroked through his hair as Q failed to find words.

(and Q quietly realised the thing Bond had been trying to tell him all along: that he always would be there, even if Q tried his best to close himself away. No matter what happened, Bond would be there, stroking his hair, loving him in the weird and fucked-up way James Bond loved people).

It was enough.

[consultingwriters]

Hi, I tried to have an IUD put in today but couldn’t because I was too tight and in too much pain. Could you do a thing where Q is either fem or an omega and can’t have sex with James because of this? Maybe they go to a doctor?

Ackk you have my undying sympathies, they’re a bitch, and I have plenty of stories of my own regarding those sodding bitching things (I swear to god if the weather isn’t right IUDs can’t be inserted...) and while our issues weren’t the same I KNOW THE PAIN so I’m so sorry, I hope you’re okay and enjoy this fic-related tribute to the joy of gynecologist apps. Ahem. Jen.

-

Q had a truly impressive array of swear words at her disposal. Truly; Bond could honestly say he’d never encountered any human being with quite that vocabulary, some surprisingly imaginative, and hearing them spoken with her crisp and beautiful (and somewhat ridiculous) British accent was an unforgettable event.

Which Bond would care considerably more about if she wasn’t presently crushing his fingers into dust whilst splayed out on a medical bench.

Bond hated medical at the best of times. Bond had also never attended a doctor’s appointment with a woman, and certainly not for anything so intimate. However - given that this was “a two-way issue you utter cunt”, Bond had conceded that the very least he could do was show up for moral support.

Doctor Megan Walker was a lovely woman, and Bond had never seen somebody so menacing when armed with a speculum, a sentiment Q wholeheartedly shared.

“Yep, nothing amiss, per se,” she said lightly, as Q hissed through her teeth. “Q, you should try breathing.”

“I am,” Q managed, with truly unparalled vitriol; if she and Megan hadn’t been good friends out of work (and “no Bond, it doesn’t make things weird, we’re goddamn adults and she’s the best doctor in the building, she’s seen more of your internal organs than mine at this point”) it would have been, well. Rude was a kind word for it.

“Vaginisimus, and a suspected tilted womb, but given the former I can’t perfectly ascertain the latter.”

Q lifted her head. Bond blinked. “What now?”

“You can get dressed,” Megan smirked. “But yes: in short. Vaginisimus is when you involuntarily contract when it comes to penetration. There are a number of different things you can try; I can talk you through a few options, ranging from therapy to vaginal trainers, but there’s a host of possibilities. Absolutely treatable in the vast majority of cases, and you should see improvements fairly rapidly. Bond, you are presumably on board to assist?”

Bond blinked again. “... yes?” he managed, when it became patently obvious that he was expected to answer. Q twisted to him, her expression distinctly unimpressed. “Sorry. Yes, I am."

“Then why don’t you get dressed and more comfortable, and I’ll see you in a moment.”

Megan disappeared elegantly behind a curtain, leaving a still rather uncomfortable Q to retrieve her clothing. “It’s a good thing you’re not exactly hung like a horse,” she muttered to Bond, who honestly thought it was a rather unfair jab.

... and yet, given the stifled giggle he heard from behind the curtain, he was wearily certain that he was the only one labouring under that delusion.

[consultingwriters]

Hi...feeling really angsty. Mpreg would be awesome.Q is pregnant with James child after being involved for over 2 years. On the day of an appt. he finds James at the doctors office with a woman who is also with child, kissing her cheek and rubbing his hand over her stomach or however you wish. Angst ensues. happy or sad ending but needs lots of angst. ty - anon

-

Q was exhausted and nauseous and knew precisely what was going on, but indisputably needed to make sure everything was moving correctly and he was healthy and - most importantly - so was the baby.

The baby. Good god.

The woman opposite had a showing bump, just the slightest swell, but enough to utterly wrench Q’s soul from beneath him: he was going to have a baby, too. He was going to be a parent. 

(he was going to have to tell James)

“You too, sweetheart?” the woman asked; she smiled at Q’s look of startled confusion, sliding over to sit by him. “Hey, don’t look so stressed - my brother’s like you, had the blessing.”

“Blessing?”

The woman shrugged lopsidedly. “I always thought it a gift. Parenthood isn’t… easy, no, but it’s a beautiful thing, if it’s what you want. Is it what you want?”

Q hesitated, before nodding slowly. “Yeah. But my partner… I don’t think he had any idea. I don’t know how he’ll react.”

“He loves you?”

A blossom of certainty in Q’s chest. “Yes, he does. He really does. He’s a good man.”

“Good men stay,” she assured him. “Good men will understand. It’s not usual, no, but it’s you. And it’s your future, both of you, and the little one.”

Q couldn’t help the shakiness in his hands. Yes, it was him. A source of shame since before he could remember. A sense of wrongness. And now, he was pregnant, and the ridiculous thing was the unshakeable feeling that actually - despite everything society had patterned into him - it was right. He was pregnant. He wanted a child, he’d always wanted a child, and he was able to.

Q’s life was going to change in every conceivable way, and he’d never been so excited.

The woman pulled him into her arms, and held him. Q didn’t even know why he was so happy, why he was crying, why every feeling he’d had was suddenly sparking electric and he knew, with a dizzying certainty, that this was what he wanted. This was his future, his forever.

“Q?”

Bond’s voice was cold and distant.

It took a remarkably long time to work out what it looked like from an external lens: him, in a doctor’s office with a pregnant woman, holding her and being held with a strange degree of intimacy.

“James…”

The woman stood quickly, a hand over her belly. “You must be this young man’s partner. I hope you’re ready for the responsibility.”

Q and Bond had been together for two years, and still, Q would never cease to be surprised at how bullets, bombs, couldn’t affect Bond: a strong woman affording no room for argument, however. There, he was snookered.

“What responsibility?”

Q blinked.

Bond blinked.

“I have something to tell you,” Q murmured, and gestured to the seat the stranger had just vacated.

She winked at him, and sat elsewhere, leaving Q to try and explain to Bond that he was in the ridiculously small percentage of men who could fall pregnant - and more than that, he’d managed it.

[consultingwriters]

Don't know If you've done one like this already (if you have, id love to read it!) but can I request 00Q with one of them switching to a different language in bed and the other one thinking its crazy hot? Also, if I may, maybe one where they meet and one doesn't speak English at all but that doesn't stop them from falling for eachother (maybe they go all 'Love Actually' and learn each other's language in order to ask the other one out) - anon

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Thank you anon, and apologies for the delay <3 Take a look at this for more language-related prompt fills! Jen.

-

Bond knew a fairly extensive number of languages, and was rather proud of his record; while he was generally considered a goon with a gun, he liked being able to prove that he was also a very intelligent goon with a gun, and a mastery of language - a solid nine at fluency and a fair few more conversational - was one of those traits.

Sign language was not one of those languages. As a language, it also scared him; it wasn’t like any other verbal language, which was a matter of speech, linguistics. This was gestural and expressive and beautiful and entirely not Bond’s favourite option of languages he could potentially get the hang of.

Q, though.

His Quartermaster had communicated thus far through messages, drop points. It wasn’t uncommon, didn’t really blip Bond’s radar; it wasn’t until they met, in the bowels of MI6, where Bond began to understand.

“Hello.”

The young man Bond had been assured was definitely Q - yes, Bond, he looks young, do try to behave - but didn’t look up at Bond’s words.

Instead, Bond caught a glance of the button on Q’s desk. It read Press For Attention.

Bond did so; a light blinked. Q glanced, looked up directly at Bond. Bond blinked. Q didn’t speak. “... erm…”

Q rolled his eyes, and gestured at an honest-to-god brass plaque on the desk: To the uninitiated: I’m deaf. Let me guess: it explains a lot. Shocking, that. Submit requests in writing or learn sign language, preferably the latter, it’s not as complicated as you think it is. Fair warning, I can lipread, don’t try to be smart, it’ll irk me. Thank you. Q.

“You’re deaf?!”

Q raised an eyebrow, nodded.

(his eyes were a ridiculously lovely shade of green, Bond mused, and realised quickly that his somewhat ignored bisexuality was rearing its head for the first time in several years)

“Pleasure to meet you, Quartermaster,” Bond told him, making sure his mouth was unobscured; he didn’t slow down or patronise, just took the young man at his word and didn’t interfere with it. “I was told you have equipment for me?”

-

Sign language was a bitch, yes, and not Bond’s favourite language to learn.

Yet the look on Q’s face when he shakily managed would you like to come to dinner with me, Q? was entirely worth it.

[consultingwriters]

Bondlock/Knives Out crossover - minimartian

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Hello, sorry for the delay!! Early stages here, happy to continue if anybody’s interested - and thanks minimartian for the prompt! Jen.

-

Q was in full rant mode, and Bond had no intention whatsoever of stopping him, even if that had been halfway feasible in the first place; Q on a rant was a very intimidating thing, for a man who weighed about as much as a ten-year-old girl and an accent that implicitly mocked most people who passingly believed themselves upper-class.

“... and he’s pathologically incapable of looking after himself, just flies off to the next case the moment it materialises, regardless of the very genuine danger to life and limb and fucking sanity, plus it should have been in MI5’s remit, not his, don’t know what Mycroft thinks he’s playing at getting Sherlock involved…”

“... yeah, Benny just got back from some house in the middle of nowhere after a murder case; must be a detective thing, and I told him I couldn’t have my baby brother getting in the middle fo a case that should have been an MI job, but there you go…”

It was a solid thirty seconds of further ranting before Q abruptly cut himself off mid-sentence, as he registered the content. “Sorry, who?”

Bond blinked. “Who what?”

“What’s a detective thing?”

“Oh, that. Was just saying: Benny - Benoit, sorry, he hates when I call him that - just got off a case of his own.”

The silence stretched out comically for a moment. Q blinked. Bond would have taken a bite of his sandwich, had he not been mildly concerned about the possibility of Q throwing it in a fit of pique.

“... “Benny?”

Bond nodded, uncertain whether Q was being deliberately slow or not. “Well, yes. Nickname, obviously.”

“No, I mean,” Q tried again, his eyes that slightly wild and wide cast they got when he was trying to calm down in the middle of an angry spell. “Who the fuck is Benny?”

“Benoit.”

“Well yes, I gathered that much,” Q managed, in a rather undignified screech; he cut off again, took a deep breath. “And since when have you had anybody in your life whom you refer you as a ‘baby brother’?! Surely that’s… a touch intimate, wouldn’t you think?!”

Bond was genuinely very unsure if he’d just entered a parallel dimension. Or maybe Q was drunk, high, injured. The possibilities were endless. “Intimate would be weird, for my younger brother,” he said slowly, as Q turned mildly puce. “Q, you do remember me talking about Benoit, don’t you?”

“Is this the face of somebody who has the faintest fucking idea what you’re talking about?!”

Well, it had to be conceded: no, it most certainly was not. Q looked incandescent and mildly nauseous and definitely not showing even the vaguest shadow of comprehension, and they were attracting a fair few stares by now, because of course, all this just had to happen in the middle of a coffee shop a few yards from HQ.

Bond blinked.

Q ran out of steam quite rapidly; he always did this. Rants were passionate and dangerous things for him, in need of quick expunging before he returned to something resembling human. Now, he went for a Q-favourite: a strangely strangled whimper.

“Explain,” he managed. “Now.”

And Bond did.

[consultingwriters]

Writers asks: N: Any fic ideas brewing that you’d care to share? U: Is there a pairing you would like to write, but haven’t tried yet? V: Are there certain comments you’ve received on your stories that have stuck with you?

Thank you @hedwig-dordt (for linking this too in the first place!!).

N: Yes, actually, which is new for me (haven’t had a new fic in the pipeline for ages!) - it’s a Bondlock one, Mycroft and Q kidnapped together, things escalate. It also plays with some pairings I adore and haven’t explored as much as I’d like but quietly headcanon with livid ferocity (would say the pairing but I think that’d probably constitute spoilers but I genuinely don’t know yet...). Still in early stages, but it’s a start!

U: Not really, that’s something I’ve loved about doing prompt fills tbh; I’ve ended up writing pairings I never imagined would work, and fell into them with a vengeance. Pretty much everything I’ve passingly considered writing has been prompted at some point. I’m now moving though from prompts (which to me more explore concepts) into “let’s do a slow burn where everyone will want to throw missiles” so wish me luck on that score :P

V: Ohhh. So many, honestly, commenters are world wonders and have said some exquisitely lovely things.

I tend to find, though, that comments don’t stick with me as much as commenters; like, there are individuals who comment on my fic who I’ll always recognise the names of, who’ve stuck with them, and even if their comments are one-word, I remember the names and I grin like a maniac when they come back for more. Esp for In June (which has been going for four years now, and is a fairly niche pairing and concept) the thing that means the world to me is the core of people who have had patience with me for the whole of that four years, who have commented on most chapters and whom I always secretly just wait to comment and hope I haven’t scared them off with the latest update!!!

Thank again for asking, that’s just made my morning more fun - hope you’re doing well, take care!! Jen.

[consultingwriters]

Fanfic Writer Ask Meme

A: Of the fanfic you’ve written, which is your favorite and why? B:  What was the first fandom you read fic in?  Which was the first you wrote fic for? C:  How did you come up with the title to [insert fic]? D: What’s the most personal fanfic you’ve written? E: What character do you identify with most?  Is there a certain fic of yours that captures these qualities particularly well? F: Is there a song or a playlist to associate with [insert fic]? G: If you wrote a sequel to [insert fic], what would it be about? H: How would you describe your writing style? I: How many fandoms have you written in?  Do you have a favorite? J:  What’s your favorite fanfic trope?  Have you written it? K:  Do you have a guilty pleasures in fic (reading or writing)? L:  Which of your fanfics was the most emotionally challenging to write? M: What’s the weirdest AU scenario you’ve ever come up with?  Did it turn into a story? N: Any fic ideas brewing that you’d care to share? O: What are your thoughts on people writing fanfic of your fanfic? P:  Where did you find the most inspiration for your story < insert title >? Q: Do you like getting prompts from your readers? R: Which writers (fanfic or otherwise) do you consider the biggest influence on you and your writing? S: How do you feel about fan art inspired by your writing? T: Any fanfic tropes you can’t stand? U: Is there a pairing you would like to write, but haven’t tried yet. V: Are there certain comments you’ve received on your stories that have stuck with you? W: What is your favorite pairing to write?  Favorite pairing to read? X: How would you categorize your fanfic reading?  Are you a voracious reader?  Do you carefully pick and choose?  Something in between? Y: What are your thoughts on your personal satisfaction with something you’ve written vs. the popularity of your stories?  Do you tend to be most satisfied with your most popular stories?   Z: Is there a story you’ve written that doesn’t seem to get much love?

[consultingwriters]

Hey all!

Just want to let y’all know - I officially have coronavirus. As such, while I had all good intentions of finally re-entering fandom and filling prompts during quarantine (yep, I’m alive and still writing from time to time!) I’m gonna have to put it on hold til I’m less ill and can concentrate a bit better.

But also: you wonderful people supporting this blog have been my anchors for a very long time, and if I can, I want to be able to give back. If anybody wants to chat (about corona, about life, about fic and escapism, about surviving quarantine, etc) I’m more than happy to talk. While fic writing is beyond my capabilities for a little while, talking is absolutely not, and while we’re (mostly) all socially isolating, seems a good time to make friends and support each other!

Basically: feel free to message if you’d like, and above all, look after yourselves and those around you. Lex and I send endless amounts of love, and hope you are all doing well. Jen.

[consultingwriters]

Hi! I was referred to you in a post I made about a Bondlock/Knives Out crossover, someone mentioned that if I submitted a request to you you might take it for me. The entire post is rather long, so would it be ok if I tagged you, or would you like me to summarize it in another ask? (I’m sorry I am so bad at interaction eee)

Hello m’dear!! Thanks for messaging! I think I may have seen your original post as it happens, but if you could link it through I’d love to :D gotten very out of the routine of prompt-filling but would love to get back into it!! Jen x

[consultingwriters]

Fem!Q with both James and Alec pretty please, I love how you write her - anon

-

I still write prompt fills sometimes! Hope you enjoy. Jen.

-

Q stood at the computer, tapping her foot irritably. “If you could deign to walk in the designated direction, that would be superlative,” she told double-oh six coldly, accepting a cup of tea from a nearly minion. “Yes, double-oh six, your other left. Your other… oh, for god’s sake.”

Bond, behind her, made the catastrophic mistake of chuckling.

“And what precisely are you doing in my branch?” Q demanded, eyes all but blazing. “You are not supposed to be in here and I have no interest in you whatsoever given that I know for a fact that my equipment is in nine constituent pieces and yes double-oh six, I am still listening, it would be lovely if you did for a change.”

Alec swore at the other end of the comms. Q was unperturbed.

“I have the earpiece?”

“Does it work?” Q asked, with feigned politeness; he looked suitably sheepish. “Quite. Put whatever is left on the table, and get out.”

Abruptly, there was action.

“Double-oh six?” Q asked intensely, her green eyes now focusing on the screen, away from Bond completely. “Status report. Now.”

“... not dead,” he rasped back. “Just.”

Bond felt his spine tingle. Alec was one of his closest friends, and more than that to boot; he and Alec and the beautiful creature that was Q had shared several nights that were more than a little bit unprofessional and totally ill-advised and absolutely exquisite.

“Alec?” “Call numbers only, you know that,” Q snapped at him, and Bond could have punched her. “Double-oh six. There is a car at the end of that road, can you hotwire it?”

“... yes.”

“Then do. Bond, I need you out of here and towards Chalk Farm.” “Domestic?”

“Yes. I have your equipment here,” she continued, emptying out a drawer to dump the contents in front of him. “Radio, gun, spare gun, car keys. Go. Be quick. Come back safe. Et cetera. Also you owe me dinner.”

Bond grinned. “Do I now?”

Alec let out a grunt over the intercom, and Q didn’t grace Bond with a reply, just returned her attention to the screen. “I’m with you. Continue as you are, you’re doing well. Backup will be arriving shortly.”

“Double-oh seven?” “Exactly. Just hold on that long.”

“Hope he’s quick.” 

Bond took that as his cue, and went, without looking back; Q continued as she was, and Bond smiled quietly to himself as he found the car, thinking.

He was so fucking lucky.