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When Reid arrived at the National Gallery, Room 34, and found the painting of The Fighting Temeraire, as previously instructed by M, there was somebody already sitting in front of it, clearly annoyed with having been made to wait.
Reid huffed as he popped down beside the gruff-looking older man.
“007. I thought you were dead.”
The other agent didn’t turn towards him and didn’t show any signs of surprise as he said:
“I got resurrected.”
“Impressive. I thought only phoenixes could be reborn from their ashes.”
Finally, ever so slowly, Bond looked at him.
“And I thought you were away playing FBI in the US, 005. That’s where puppies like you belong. How old are you now anyway, 15?”
“Twenty-five!” – Hissed Reid.
“Hm… You don’t look a day over 12. I still don’t understand why we’d employ a kid; it’s a dangerous job and you still belong in the sandbox.”
Reid gritted his teeth in anger, forcibly reminding himself why blowing up and cussing at the other man in at least nine different languages in the middle of a crowded museum wouldn’t be a prize-winning idea.
“Well, maybe now with you finally back in business, I won’t have to----”
Suddenly a stranger sat down next to them, causing Reid to have to scoot over a bit and bump into James Bond to make more place for the newcomer. What was this skinny man thinking anyway? These benches clearly weren’t meant for three! The closer proximity, and the abrupt end to their verbal battle just seemed to make things worse, and, for lack of any other option, they defiantly glared daggers at each other, both wishing for nothing more than to be anywhere else but here.
“It always makes me feel a little melancholy. Grand old war ship, being ignominiously hauled away to scrap… The inevitability of time, don’t you think? What do you see?
Both turned towards their newest addition in surprise, momentarily forgetting the ongoing cold war. The last question had obviously been directed at 007 as the messy dark-haired man was leaning a bit forward and staring right at him with a barely concealed grin. Reid took an instant liking to the stranger for his boldness. Let’s see what the great James Bond would make of that!
“A bloody big ship.” – Answered Bond annoyed and started to stand up, probably fed up with the situation. – “Excuse me.”
“007, 005. I'm your new Quartermaster.”
Bond sank back onto the bench and a stunned silence followed these words as both agents needed a few seconds to absorb what they had just heard.
“You must be joking.” – Tried the older one but looked unconvinced, turning to Reid as if waiting for denial or confirmation.
The youngest agent of MI6 only shrugged; now that he took a closer look at the man claiming to be the Quartermaster he was reminded of M’s words about him. Their clothes and entire style actually nearly matched… Even their hair, though his was a bit longer and of a lighter color. And Reid did have glasses like that at home, even if he was fortunately wearing his contact lenses instead right now. He was also a bit taller, but not by much, that was evident even with them sitting. Yep, he was pretty sure they were indeed in the company of their new Quartermaster. Damn, he’d have to change his whole closet for no way was he going to resemble someone like that. He liked being in individual, thank you very much.
The Quartermaster looked absolutely unfazed by the reactions he was getting. If anything, he behaved outright amused.
“Why, because I'm not wearing a lab coat?”
“Because you still have spots.” – Spat Bond, then pointed at Reid. – “This one here… I thought he was the only baby we had. Clearly, I was mistaken. Brave new world indeed.”
Reid opened his mouth to retort but – others would probably say ‘luckily’ – Q beat him with a quick answer.
“My complexion is hardly relevant.” – He stated, still totally calm.
“Your competence is.”
“Age is no guarantee of efficiency.” – Said both young men together, one in posh British and the other in rapid American accent, as if rehearsed, causing Bond to do a double take and the two youngsters to share a confused look with each other.
007 seemed close to exploding.
“And youth is no guarantee of innovation.” – He directed that at both of his companions.
Again, it was Q who answered first.
“Well, I'll hazard I can do more damage on my laptop sitting in my pajamas before my first cup of Earl Grey than you can do in a year in the field.”
This time, Reid was quick to follow.
“And shall I remind you that I have a success rate of 100% on all of my field missions, without ever having burnt down a consulate or lost a complete set of equipment along the way?”
Bond’s face was getting decidedly redder and redder as the seconds passed.
“Oh, so why do you need me?”
Q smiled.
“Every now and then a trigger has to be pulled.”
“Or not pulled. It's hard to know which in your pajamas. Q.”
Completely ignoring the older agent’s comment, Reid reached out towards the Quartermaster to shake his hand, not caring about how he hated any kind of human contact. He had gained a solid respect for the man already.
He also added to Bond as if an afterthought:
“Some assignments simply have to be done; no matter by whom. MI6 needs all the agents it can get.”
He thought Bond might actually have hit him, had Q not taken the agent’s hand with a quick “007” as a peace-offering.
JB * CM * JB * CM * JB * CM * JB * CM * JB * CM * JB * CM
After getting their new gadgets each – a radio transmitter and a newly developed, palmprint-coded gun that had Reid squealing in delight and Bond seething in anger – they said their farewells. Well, to 007, at any rate, because the two obnoxious young men had agreed on going for dinner together to discuss Reid’s ideas for developing a special tracking device, in which Q looked genuinely interested. They had already established that they were both geniuses, with Q having an IQ of 166 and Reid of 187 (‘Not much of a difference’ – according to them), and they had already boldly stated that, obviously, it wasn’t only age that prevented Bond from understanding them. The nerve!
As James Bond was exiting the Museum, he felt like he wanted shoot someone with his good-for-nothing new and shiny gun, or better yet: explode the whole building along with his useless radio transmitter.
He resisted the urge though, since he didn’t want to give any more things for those pups to tease him with. He could already hear them laughing about his lack of self-restraint and how it must be caused by his age.
No, no, he wouldn’t give them that satisfaction. So, he pulled out his cell and dialed his boss’ number instead.
- M.
- Ma’am, I just left the National Gallery. I have the equipment.
- And what did you think of the new Quartermaster, 007?
- Actually, that’s why I’m calling. M, I can already see what you meant about them being freakishly similar. I do think we should run a more thorough background check on both of them: there’s no way those two are not related!
- Do whatever you deem necessary, 007. This issue has top priority, understood?
- Clearly, ma’am. I understood you just perfectly.
With that, Bond ended the call and put his cell phone safely back into the pocket of his coat.
He would uncover the secrets of the new Q and 005, even if it was the last thing he would do.