007: MODICUM OF DECENCY
© 2011 Aviewtoapussy
Prologue
God, I hate that man with a passion.
Q picked up his bedside telephone. Dialing Bond's home number had become second nature to him over the last few weeks. These painful and depressing few weeks. Q was tarnished and weary. Above all he was angry. Angry at the man with an answer to everything. Angry at the man who had a quip for every occasion.
Bonds phone rang. He pulled himself away from the half a dozen beauties that were showering his every move with adoration and picked up the phone.
'Bond here'.
Q remained silent on the other end. He dabbed away a sweaty residue from his upper lip.
'Hello? Bond here....who is this?'
'...I hate you' Q muttered, ' I hate you so much'.
'Who is this?' Bond demanded.
'This is the man who hates you more than anything else in the world.'
'Look, I haven't got time for this.'
'...You wouldn't believe how much you get on my nerves.'
Q slammed down the telephone and wiped away the residue from his upper lip that had re-appeared.
Q gathered himself as best he could and walked to the sink. He splashed his sweaty features with cool, calming water. He could barely recognise himself anymore. Looking into the mirror he could not find a trace of the content man that he used to be before Bond.
God, I hate that man with a passion.
Chapter 1
Q aimed the sight of his rifle, carefully, yet shakily. His palms were sweating and his heart was thumping. He hadn't been this distressed since he was last in 007's company - an hour ago. An hour. God, time flies.
Q could see Bond holding a bacon sandwich while slipping out of his semi flared trouser and putting on a bath robe. A bevy of wanton beauties waiting on his bed. Waiting. Wanting. Wanting and waiting.
God, I hate that man with a passion.
Bond picked up a bottle of ketchup and started distributing it along the top of his sandwich. He crossed the room to the window and looked out, biting deeply into his first meal for hours. Q felt like Bond was staring at him directly, but this couldn't be possible. It was dark and Q's room was at least two hundred feet opposite.
Always on the look out, aren't you? Well, this is one bullet you wont see coming, Bond.
The shot smashed the ketchup bottle in Bond's hand. The force of the blast threw Q backwards. It had been a long time since he'd fired a rifle of this calibre and it showed.
Climbing to his feet, Q crouched and crept back to the window. There was no sign of 007. The room appeared empty. No beauties. No Bond. Just a bacon sandwich lying half eaten on the floor. Q waited. Nothing. Except that the curtains were stained in deep red. Red.
Perhaps Bond was lying on the floor, bleeding. Better still, dead.
I got you didn't I? After all these years, I finally, really got you.
Chapter 2
A sense of exhilaration ran through Q's body, washing over his mind and lifting years of pent up aggression from his back. Sitting on the bed he placed the rifle on the floor and cradled his sweaty face in his hands. He wiped some residue from his upper lip and took a deep breath. He felt free. "I can't believe it. At last I am..." He didn't have time to notice the bullet that penetrated the back of his cranium. He couldn't have done. It was too silent. Too swift. Q crashed head long to the blood red floor.
Bond walked toward the body lying on the cheap hotel carpet. Rolling the body over with his foot, Bond took a good, hard and long stare at the face. Shock racked his body. He had just killed one of his own.
A flap of skin was hanging down the whole left side of Q's face. Bond kneeled to peruse the damage.
This was not skin. This was prosthetic. This was a mask. Bond peeled off the remainder of the facial covering.
It was Blofeld.
A day later, Bond recieved a call from the mortuary. The autopsy was taking place. Bond didn't really care. He did care, however, when the coroner informed him that Blofeld's face was a prosthetic mask also. It was Q after all. He had been wearing a prosthetic Blofeld mask underneath a prosthetic mask of his own face.
But why? Why?
Chapter 3
Bond opened the door and entered the cold confines of the mortuary. His stacked heels echoing around the ghostly building. Only the dead could hear him coming.
Dr Harben, the head coroner, greeted Bond with a half smile. Harben was weary. Long days and long nights with corpses tended to make him feel like one himself.
'If you take a look at the bullet wound, it entered at the back of his cranium and exited through the front'.
'Twenty years in the business and that's the best summary you could come up with?' quipped Bond, in an attempt to lighten the sombre tone.
'Well, the cause of death is pretty blatant, Bond. No in depth explaination needed'.
'Next you'll be telling me he's dead', Bond retorted.
The electronic saw hit maximum rotation speed. Sparks flew. Bond grimaced. Even after all these years, an autopsy was a sickening chore. Especially when it was being conducted on one of your colleagues.
Then there was a bright flash from the blade.
Harben dropped the saw to the ground in panic. A spark had hit him in the eye.
Bond quickly unplugged the saw at the wall. ' I thought you guys were supposed to wear a visor?'
Harben bent over in agony, cradling his eye. That's when the suspicion kicked in.
Only someone who doesn't know what they are doing would not wear a visor.
Bond lunged for Harben and threw a punch at his left cheek. Harben reeled backwards into a trolley full of surgical equipment, dropping to the floor.
He pulled a handgun from his surgical overcoat and aimed it at Bond.
It was too late. Harben didn't feel the bullet as it entered the front of his cranium and exited out of the back of it.
Bond approached Harben's body and kneeled next to it. He noticed a flap of skin hanging down the whole left side of Harben's face.
This is becoming ridiculous. Twice in two days.
Reaching forward, Bond peeled at the flap of skin. It was artificial. Underneath the skin was a close colleague. He had just shot Q. Again. Q had been wearing a prosthetic mask of Dr. Harben.
But if that's not Q on the autopsy table, who is it?
Bond forced himself back over to the body lying on the table. It looked like Q alright. Bond knew this was only superficial. There was a loose piece of skin still available and Bond yanked it away.
Suddenly, the lifeless body sat upright, arms outstreched, almost beckoning Bond to him.
'Q hates you with a passion, Bond!" screamed Scaramanga.
Chapter 4
...Bond screamed and woke up. His bed covers were soaked in sweat. Cold sweat. The concierge entered the room. "Is everything alright, Commander Bond?"
Bond gathered himself, "Yes, I'm fine, thanks."
Chapter 5
Bond's glass was half full. Across the room, Q's glass was half empty. Q was sweating. Profusely.
'What's the matter, Q?' asked Bond, 'shouldn't have had that extra portion of curry?'
'If that's meant to be humour,007, then don't bother' Q replied, wiping residue from his upper lip. He could feel his blood pressure rising. It always happened when Bond was in the room.
'That's your fourteenth glass of wine, Q, don't you think you'd better be getting off home?'
'Oh, grow up, 007. If I choose to spend my evenings brooding amongst this impressive collection of gadgets, then that's none of your concern.'
'What's wrong with you lately, Q?' retorted Bond, ' you spend every evening hidden in here stuffing your face with wine and curry, are you having problems at home?'
More residue had formed on Q's upper lip. He dabbed it away with his handkerchief. Blood pressure rising.
'Well, Q, I'd better love you and leave you. I've got half a dozen hot chicks waiting for me in my hotel suite. If your lucky I may send one around for you.'
Bond headed for the door. 'Goodnight, Q.'
Q shook his head in disgust as his smug enemy left the room. 'God, I hate that man with a passion'. He pulled out his handkerchief again and started wiping away more residue - which had formed once more on his upper lip.
Epilogue
Bonds left sock emitted a low hum. This notified him that he had an imminent phone call. It was a little something Q knocked up for him. Sure enough the phone rang. He pulled himself away from the half a dozen beauties that were showering his every move with adoration and picked up the phone. 'Bond here'.
Q remained silent on the other end.
'Hello? Bond here....who is this?'
'...I hate you' Q muttered, 'You wouldn't believe how much you get on my nerves'.
'Who is this?' Bond demanded.
'This is the man who hates you more than anything else in the world.'
'Look, I haven't got time for this.'
'...God, I hate you, Bond'.
Q slammed down the telephone and wiped away some residue from his upper lip. He grabbed his rifle and caressed it.
God, I hate that man with a passion.
THE END
James Bond Will Return
Edited by AViewToAPussy, 18 March 2011 - 05:56 PM.