The rubber duck thing, in Bond’s opinion, is getting slightly out of hand. Or perhaps it’s always been out of hand, and Bond is only just now exploring the depths of this particular Q-Branch madness.
The first Q-Branch rubber duck Bond saw was on Q’s desk: a splash of jolly yellow stood out among an array of papers, books, dismantled devices, blueprints and other things. Just about the size of a tennis ball, the duck was sat beside Q’s laptop, smiling cheerfully at Bond as he contemplated it while Q was busy with data on one of the screens nearby.
“Hm?” Q asked, a little distractedly, when Bond finally made an enquiry. “Oh, this is Matilda.”
Which was how Bond came to learn about the role of a rubber duck in the debugging process, whereby some programmers explain their code to a rubber duck when they can’t work out a problem – apparently, explaining it is meant to help realise what the problem is, and it’s supposed to be effective.
Q’s rubber duck is more of a nerdy token than an actual tool, although Q tells him that occasionally he does use the rubber duck method.
After that, Bond starts seeing rubber ducks everywhere. It’s a gradual thing, possibly enhanced by his increasing presence in the Branch (it turns out that warming the Quartermaster’s bed entitles him to something of a free pass, although Q never hesitates to evict him when he misbehaves or plays with things he was told not to), but it is a thing nonetheless.
Soon enough, Bond realises that Q-Branch essentially doubles as a rubber duck museum: rubber ducks on desks, rubber ducks in cupboards, rubber ducks in drawers, rubber ducks on bloody light fittings. One time, Q smirks and mentions something about rituals. Bond still isn’t entirely sure whether Q was serious or just bored and fucking with him.
Collecting rubber ducks is something of a Q-Branch hobby, a challenge even. Bond soon learns that obtaining rubber ducks by doing somehing as straightforward and mundane as ordering a boxful online is not acceptable. The ducks have to be purloined, the more creatively the better. Or, if bought, they must be collectibles or have an interesting story behind them (as is the case of one antique residing on top of the biscuit tin to guard the supply).
Bond hasn’t really got room to judge – 00 agents do all sorts of things. Alec Trevelyan (006) collects the bullets that doctors dig out of him; Camille (009) routinely spends a not insignificant part of her salary on tattooing her cars (a service she first encountered in Taiwan), and Bond himself can’t really ever say no to a pair of custom-made Oxford shoes. The rubber ducks are just another species of oddity one can so easily encounter at MI6; eventually, Bond starts finding them almost charming.
Bond kills a man in his own bathroom. Nothing particularly memorable or even noteworthy about that, but once the deed is done, Bond notices a rubber duck perched on the edge of an ostentatiously large marble bathtub. On a whim and with a fond smile (the sort of fondness one reserves for ostensibly harmless insanity) Bond pockets the duck and promptly makes his exit to chase a down a lead.
He puts the duck out of his mind until twelve hours later, when he’s queuing to go through airport security on his way back; he bends over to pick up his bag and the duck squeaks incriminatingly in his pocket, attracting looks from at least three people around him and one of the security guards. Naturally, he gets the pat-down and a raised eyebrow when the duck is put aside along with a few other things in his pockets.
The duck is worth it. He gets the pleasure of presenting Q with a hard drive full of data, two out of three pieces of his equipment (one can’t have everything one wants, even when one is Q), and then he gets to clear his throat, distracting Q from the hard drive, and present him with the duck.
Q actually laughs, and it’s such a light, happy sound, his eyes so bright, that Bond resolves there and then to keep his Quartermaster in rubber ducks till the end of his days.
“Dare I ask where you found it?” Q asks, taking the duck and placing it on his palm, grinning.
“I rescued it from a very bad man’s bathroom. It might have a bit of a trauma, so be gentle with it.”
“Poor thing, you did right to rescue it. I’ll put it next to Matilda, she’ll take very good care of it,” Q says. It’s utterly whimsical and utterly charming; Bond is utterly smitten.
“Have dinner with me,” comes out of him in a soft rumble.
Q looks up at him, eyes bright and calculating; they haven’t been doing this very long, but long enough for Bond to learn different types of ‘calculating’ in Q’s eyes. This one is a quick and easy sort, delving into his schedule and assessing Bond’s time off rather than toeing the edge of pondering what this arrangement between them means.
Soon enough, Q gives a small, satisfied smile.
“Thai or Spanish, please. Then we can come back to mine,” he says and then turns back to whatever he was doing with the hard drive, just bossy enough to get Bond’s engines pleasantly revving.
Since the beginning, Bond’s been quite charmed by Q’s frankness and easy way of directly saying what he’d like from Bond, no hesitation or ceremony, be it in bed or in the office. It’s simple, open, and delivered with a hint of a smirk, clever eyes glinting behind spectacles; Bond has never been more charmed. And what’s more, it makes him feel he can be just as honest with Q about what he would like. Pleased, Bond leaves Q with the hard drive and the new acquisition for Q-Branch’s rubber duck museum.
That would be the first time a rubber duck has got Bond laid; he has a feeling it won’t be the last.
It was, indeed, not the last.
Bond summits Mount Rubber Duck Madness on a sunny April afternoon on the eastern coast of Japan. It’s been almost a year since his first rubber duck, and he has since gifted Q with five other rubber ducks obtained on his missions, and he has also gradually shuffled most of his belongings over to Q’s, and has been living with him for just about five months now.
This duck – duck number 7 – is the crowning glory.
Bond spots it on the beach, washed up by a recent tide. At first, he can’t believe that the unmistakeable spot of yellow could really be it, but upon approach it turns out that yes, it’s indeed a rubber duck. Bond picks it up and brushes off the wet sand clinging to it; the duck has clearly been on some interesting voyages, bearing a scar or two, and it solidifies Bond’s conviction that this is one of the ducks.
It was Q who told him that in 1992 a shipping container carrying 28 000 rubber ducks was lost at sea, and ever since then the duckies have been found on all sorts of beaches of both Pacific coastlines; some scientists have even begun using them to learn more about the ocean currents. They apparently keep washing ashore to this day and, naturally, obtaining one has become a fervent goal in Q-Branch. And, also naturally, buying one online simply won’t do. It has to be found.
And now, because Bond is a lucky, lucky bastard, it seems he has found one.
Because the horrifying truth is, Bond has been beachcombing for bloody rubber duckies all over the Pacific coastlines whenever his missions landed him there, be it Japan or Alaska. He’s even gone so far as to download a map showcasing the spots where the most duckies have washed up. And now, at last, he’s found one.
Two days later, he finally gets to present it to Q.
Q reacts by laughing in disbelief, taking the duck from Bond’s hands and declaring the otherwise unremarkable Friday a great day to the minions who have flocked to look on.
“You lucky, lucky bastard,” Q growls later into Bond’s neck, in the privacy of the blacked-out glass walls of his office, before nipping Bond’s earlobe.
Bond rumbles a low laugh and kisses Q’s smile, then his jaw, then his neck, smoothly pushing closer, fingers toying with the zip of Q’s cardigan.
“James,” Q admonishes softly. “Not in front of the ducks.”
They do indeed have an audience of three ducks perched on Q’s desk, and Bond drops his head onto Q’s shoulder, laughing silently for a moment while Q chuckles and cards his fingers through Bond’s hair.
“Hmm,” Bond says into Q’s neck, then presses another kiss there. “Then how about you try to leave early today,” he rumbles, trailing more kisses up Q’s neck before looking him in the eyes as seductively as he can manage when three rubber ducks are watching; he flatters himself it’s a testament to his skills as an agent.
“We’ll see,” Q says, just to be difficult, but Bond can see the gleam in his eyes and makes sure to kiss him most thoroughly before leaving to terrorise anyone who might keep Q working late.
(Q does manage to leave early and they have a very lovely time indeed; that’s twice now that a rubber duck has got Bond laid.)
@nixsducky , I wish I had written this for you, but you MUST read it right now, Ducky.
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