Bond stalked through the doors into Q-branch, glaring behind himself, and after taking a sharp scope of the room, made his way to Q's station without a word to drop down in between the unfamiliar desks that still smelled of fresh-cut wood and lacquer, inches from the Quartermaster's leg, jaw locked and glowering up at Q who had turned to watch him with amused curiosity. He reluctantly grumbled, "Psych are hunting me."

Q grimaced, "My sympathies. Hate that place."

Bond blinked at the calm boffin, allowing himself to be momentarily distracted, "And just how often do *you* have to go there, Quartermaster?"

Q's face smoothed into a blank-eyed look, voice going quiet, "Aside from the delightful anniversary of my hire, every time one of you lot gets tortured or killed on the comm." Bond stilled at that thought, eyes narrowing thoughtfully as Q sent a reminiscing glare toward the doors, "I don't even have time to make sure you're properly out and safe before one of them appears at the door with that blasted fake smile they all have and ‘Oh Quartermaster, let's have a ‘chat' '." Q sneered as he turned back to his computer, the first flurry of keystrokes a little too vicious before he caught himself.

Bond silently touched a hand to the back of Q's calf, meeting the surprised look the man threw down with a regretful shrug, "My apologies, Q." He didn't like the brief image of his quartermaster rushing to get him, or one of his fellow agents, evac'ed, haunted by the same worry for their lives that Bond felt whenever someone he was working with got themselves injured, but keeping it buried under a mile of solid British stoicism, and then being dragged away to be asked 'how he *felt*'.

Q snorted a quick laugh, his pissed-off look morphing to pleased amusement, "I don't expect you get yourselves tortured deliberately to land me and my techs in their clutches." Then he paused and one brow went up, "Though if you happened to think of us before you go and risk your life needlessly, it would be appreciated."

Relaxing, James grinned, amused at the cheek, "I'll see what I can do, Q. But I'm afraid I can't make any promises."

Q shrugged as he turned back to his work, "Didn't really think I'd be that lucky."

Leaning back at ease against the heavy wood at his back, James stared at the dark whorls in the sliding panel of the desk opposite him, "I do like the new furniture, Q. Aside from the bit of bullet protection of good old hardwood, this is far more of a statement of authority than your old flimsy egalitarian placards of economy."

He leaned his head to look up with a smirk at the dry look he could feel burning into the top of his head.

"I was told it matched the style of my cardigans. Luckily I took that as a compliment." As James huffed a laugh of commentary at the godawful clothing, the younger man shrugged, "I still think solid oak writing desks are ridiculously ostentatious in the middle of an open workspace like this," he sent a dry look at the old tunnel's bricking, "Even if it does somewhat fit the ‘paneling'." He looked down at James with a slightly grim smirk, "And yes, I've pointed out to everyone that this would be a good place to avoid low caliber shots, should such an emergency situation arise." One of his computers bing'ed and Q looked away, attention visibly going back to his work, voice fading with distraction, "That said.. Oh what's this now… I've already warned everyone who makes complimentary noises that they are paid for by Q-branch funds and I will therefore not put up with complaints when they get damaged by normal.. daily.. use…"

James let his eyes close as Q's mutters went distant and aimed strictly at the machine.

A scant few minutes later, Bond's eyes snapped back open when he heard the doors whisk apart. He looked up at Q and watched him turn to glare at the source of the noise.

"Has anyone seen Agent Bond?"

He recognized the voice of a harried Psych intern and sat unmoving, watching Q stare coldly at the intruder, "He was by earlier." He watched the Quartermaster maintain a glare that Bond was rather surprised he'd never earned for himself until the unwelcome guest mumbled a thank you he could barely hear in his little sanctuary and left with the smooth sound of hydraulics.

Bond caught Q's eye as he turned back to his computer, "Thank you."

Q shrugged, "I'll prevaricate as long as I can. Lie when I have to. The others will take their lead from me. I don't promise they'll be able to keep up the lie forever, though."

Bond nodded. He could have made a run for it: escaping Vauxhall while avoiding a group of head-doctors that weren't even trying to stick him with needles (yet) was hardly a challenge compared to what he did for a living. Instead he found himself letting his head fall back against Q's desk, unconscionably content to sit on the unpleasant gridwork floor with Q's calm breathing and smooth typing besides him. Though the solid desks shielded him front and back and Q's body on one side, he was still exposed in his strange little hiding place, and had stood in this room often enough to know that usually, Q's people would be walking by regularly. The fact that he didn't see anyone said a great deal about the seemingly constantly-distracted techs' perfect awareness of the real world.

What it said about *him* that he apparently didn't care about being known to hide behind the boy-quartermaster would sting more if Q weren't taking it in his stride without comment, spoken or silent. As the minutes passed, Bond felt his face slowly relax in a way no counseling session had ever managed, letting his mind lull itself to sleep tracking Q's small movements on the desk: the shift of a foot, (was the lad's back stiff from standing on this metal floor?), the slide of the mouse, the occasionally slightly harder typing (was the damned infernal machine being stubborn even for Q?), the thunk of that ubiquitous mug of Earl Grey (sounded empty, hopefully someone else heard that and did something about it..).

"Bond."

James opened his eyes to see Q crouching inches away. The internal clock that had served him well through any number of sense-deprived incarcerations told him he'd been out for at least a couple hours.

"I have to go to the workshop."

James nodded, rising and plotting how to, this time, get out of this building altogether. Two hours of solid sleep had him feeling far more human and entirely up for the challenge of exfiltrating their headquarters. He smirked in anticipation, muscles already setting into calm mission mode, "Thanks for the secure nap, Q. Much appreciated."

The little amused grin that curled the man's lips was always a pleasure to catch, and likely meant he knew just what James was planning. James wondered if he was going to take the time to lookup the camera footage to watch him escape, later.

"I'm your Quartermaster, 007. It's my job to see to what you need."