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Bumblebees and Blueprints

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“Bond?”

Scowling over a set of reports that he was supposed to be filing, Bond only barely put a civil smile on his face before lifting his head. Moneypenny stood in the doorway, giving him her best ‘I know what you’re up to’ expression, which Bond thought was unfair since he wasn’t actually up to anything.

“Yes, Moneypenny?”

“There’s a young Frenchman here. Insists he’ll only speak to you.”

A visitor. That was highly unusual. “Is he here to kill me?” James asked, wryly.

“He looks harmless,” Moneypenny teased.

“Send him in, then. By all means.”

The young man who replaced Moneypenny in the doorframe was slight and pale. His neatly combed curls were arranged forward on his head in a dark mop, and his eyes were hidden behind a pair of thick, black-rimmed lenses. Wearing a heavy anorak, he hesitated in Bond’s door like a lost lamb.

“May I--” Bond started to say, polite despite his ignorance, and then he saw those perfect, unforgettable lips, and he studied the face again, seeing his Q behind the heavy hair and thick glasses.

“Don’t,” Q said, holding up a hand before another letter escaped him. He smiled, warm and sweet, shyness dissolving into pleasure.

Speechless, Bond stared at him, overwhelmed with hope.

“Why don’t you call me Geoffrey?” Q suggested.

Grinning, Bond stood, crossing the room and pulling Q in for a kiss. “Geoffrey?”

“Geoffrey Boothroyd,” Q elaborated.

Bond shook his head. “Doesn’t suit you.”

Q laughed and rolled his eyes. “Oh, go fly a kite, you cretin.”

“Moneypenny!” Bond called, fetching his jacket. She reappeared, giving the two of them a knowingly raised eyebrow. “I’ll finish those reports tomorrow. Something has come up.”

“You’d best not forget,” Moneypenny threatened him, tone warning but eyes amused.

“He’ll probably forget,” Q sympathised.

“Shush,” Bond said. “The two of you are not allowed to gang up on me.”

Q laughed brightly, letting Bond pull him against his side. “It was very nice to meet you, Miss Moneypenny.”

Bond cast her a wink. Tomorrow, he could file reports and talk his superiors into offering Q both amnesty and employment. Today, the city and Bond’s bed were waiting for them, and Bond intended to celebrate.