this always happens when i stop writing every night

Quick prompt! The long nights at MI6 means Q gets little sleep when there is an important mission. I would love to see a very sleepy Q giving Bond his equipment and forgetting for a moment where he is Q gives Bond a kiss goodbye like he does every morning. Basically outing their relationship to the entire Q branch. – anon

Teehee, I love writing fluff from time to time. Jen.

Q suppressed a yawn with difficulty, aware that Bond was less than impressed with his state - Bond always got cross when Q had stopped sleeping – and equally, was finding it very funny. The mix of amusement, exasperation and worry was very familiar.

“… so this is your gun, coded as normal, tickets and alternative passport, currency, and some special feature on the briefcase… this bit fires a tranquiliser dart, if you remove this bit you can store papers et cetera, I’ve already packed it, and I left the Le Carre in there for the train, fuck, sorry, plane. Happy?”

Bond rolled his eyes. “Yes, I’m happy. Thank you, Quartermaster.”

Q smiled at him. “Double-oh seven. Yes. Bring the equipment back in one piece, if you would?”

“I’ll do my best.”

“You’re a nightmare,” Q replied, mumbling slightly. “Off you go. There will be forfeits for missing equipment.”

Bond grinned widely and slightly scarily, and picked up the briefcase.

Fuck, I forgot to tell you about the buzz saw.”

Never, in all of Bond’s life, had he put down a briefcase so fast.

Q lifted it with worrying confidence, pressing it open and ducking to one side on instinct as the dart fired; it sank into R’s shoulder, and she managed a series of very imaginative curses before collapsing.

“… bugger,” Q muttered. “Heloise, can we get a clean up down here, R’s out. Just a tranq, but that’s the third time this week…”

Occasionally, the casualty level in Q-branch was truly extraordinary. They had attempted a proud “No Accidents In __ Days!”, and given that up fairly quickly after failing to get through two hours, let alone days.

“Max, could you take over on her prototype, I want it done for this evening.”

“It is evening,” Bond reminded Q, who looked rather surprised for a moment. “Q, you need to go get some sleep.”

Q nodded tiredly. “I’m aware. Buzz saw first.”

“Should you be handling a buzz saw when you’re this tired?”

Q shot him a look of unbridled vitriol. Bond shut up.

Buzz saw explained – and really, Bond wished it wasn’t there, given that he was reasonably fond of his fingers – and Q seemed to visibly calm, actually feeling the exhaustion that was visible in his entire being.

Another yawn. “Be safe, James,” he murmured, and pulled Bond towards him, kissing him gently and sighing contentedly as Bond’s arms slid around him.

Bond’s breath was hot in his ear: “I think that’s the cat officially out of the bag,” he told Q.

Q straightened, abruptly very aware that the entirety of his branch were watching. “… all of you, back to work,” he told them coldly, face an extraordinary colour of pink. “Now.”

They all busied themselves, but Q could hear the underrunning giggling, just audible – not to mention that Bond was shaking with suppressed laughter. “I hate you,” Q muttered at him, but smiled in spite of himself. “Well. There’s that.”

Bond leaned in, and kissed him. “There’s that, indeed.”