Q thinks it’s utterly unfair that
Bond’s family estate is destroyed in what is essentially a mission to protect
M.  True, the government never ordered Bond to use it, and true, Bond
seems to think little of the loss, particularly since the property was apparently
sold during his “death” for some nominal amount. Q thinks this is not a case of
two wrongs making a right.  The lodge
should never have been sold, or destroyed.

Q finds it all vexing.  It’s a
matter of fairness.  The government should compensate Bond for the loss or
try to make things right.  But Bond can’t be bothered to file the
paperwork, either to claim the wrongfully-sold property, or to receive
compensation for the destruction of the structure.

When the new owners try to file a
claim against the government for the loss of the lodge, while simultaneously claiming
that the land is worthless without it, Q takes matters into his own hands.

And really, it’s just another
puzzle, working out how file a legal challenge to the sale.  The new owners, once they understand whom
they are dealing with, seem all too happy to just get their money back and be
rid of the ruins.  The cost to MI6 is a
mere slap on the hand; Q can only hope that it will make them pause before
declaring an agent dead in the field again with no evidence whatsoever.  

It’s a bit trickier to complete the
paperwork so that the destruction of the lodge qualifies under MI6′s insurance
policy to compensate private citizens when losses result from missions — you
know, the odd car crashing through a window or random building exploding — but
he wrestles that process into submission as well, finally content that justice
has been served when he sees the settlement price offered.  The money
comes in when Bond is on mission, and rather than bother him with it, Q
contacts Kincade directly and arranges to at least clear the ruins of trash and
rubble and make them safe.  Well, reasonably safe.  It would hardly
be fair to Bond if some wandering idiot were to twist an ankle in half-burned
floorboard and then try to sue him… especially since Bond is currently unaware
of his ownership.

The entire outer frame of the lodge
and many of the interior support walls are made of stone, and they fared
remarkably well through the fire, revealing yet another puzzle: the tunnel that
lead to the old chapel appears not to have been the only original secret
passage in the lodge, judging from the openings in the stone walls and their
discrepancies with Kincade’s memory of the house.  Some passages, it would
seem, had been boarded up over the years.

Kincade helps, letting crews onto
the property, sending any additional bills to Q.  Q has somehow managed to
convince him that this is all standard procedure.  Since Bond doesn’t return his calls about the
old place anyway, Kincade just seems to assume that logistics have officially
fallen to Q.  

Q doesn’t bother to correct
him. 

Then Kincade starts volunteering
information — the itemized list of lost items he put together for the insurance
company, copies the most recent blueprints, and older records and descriptions
of the house from when his father and grandfather had been caretakers.  Q
accepts each new puzzle piece with glee.

After Spectre and Bond’s abandonment of MI6, one might think
that Q would leave the place alone.  And he does, at least
physically.  But as much as his feelings for Bond are mixed — resentment
mixed with gratitude that he at least the man’s fate didn’t mirror the
estate’s — his attachment to the Skyfall and the puzzle it represents remains
simple and pure.  He begins working up new blueprints that he’s sure will never see the light of day, merging the
historic documents that Kincade continues to feed him with his own
ingenuity:  secret passages and safe rooms and of course modern
wiring and climate control, at least in the server room.  Because what
better place to maintain a secondary server array?  It’s ridiculous — the
geek version of adding turrets and spiral staircases just because you can. 
Q indulges every geeky, romantic, mysterious fantasy, and the blueprints become
elaborate and elegant.

When Bond returns from wherever he was with Madeleine, Q stops.  Their
relationship is prickly enough at first without Bond catching on to what Q must
now acknowledge is a stunning trespass.  As things go from
professional to cordial to practically warm between them over the following
months, Bond starts showing up at the pub Q sometimes visits after work, the
cafe he buys his morning tea in — sometimes after missions, Q even finds Bond
sleeping on his sofa — all uninvited.  But considering what he’s done
uninvited, Q doesn’t feel particularly in the position to find fault. 
They might even be friends now, if Q weren’t feeling quite so guilty or if he
didn’t appreciate Bond in a suit or even jeans and a sweater quite so
much.  It’s torture, really.  The universe paying him back for
dabbling in the man’s affairs.

It’s during one of these forays to the pub — Q a bit tipsy and Bond opening up and
telling Q that he feels a bit unmoored of late — that it happens.

First, he’s betrayed by his own geeky humor and the fact that he cannot
hold his drink.

“Your moorage is in the moors,” he says, giggling at his own joke. 
Because, you see, Skyfall is surrounded by lovely open moors and fens, and…
he suddenly realizes what he’s said and literally slaps his hand over his
mouth, making James look at him even more quizzically.  He covers his
mistake, changing the subject quickly, and is fairly certain that James is
going to let it go when he’s betrayed secondly by his phone.  Which
starts to ring.  On the table.  With the screen side up. Because Q
has apparently let every barrier drop.

“Why is Kincade calling you?” James asks, recognizing the number despite the
obscure contact reference of “the Highlander” on the screen. 

Q has already declined the call, hands fumbling on the table.  He sighs
and squares his shoulders; lying at this point would be beyond pointless. 
“Don’t be mad,” he says, and then realizes that this was likely not a good way
to start, given the expression on Bond’s face.  “Skyfall needed sorting
after…well after Skyfall.  And you weren’t interested.  So I
did it. Sorted it, I mean.  It’s sorted.”

“And just what did you sort?” James asks, a slight edge in his voice.  “I thought it wasn’t mine anymore.”

A full confession spills from Q’s lips.  “Yes, well.  I sorted that, too.  The sale was voided, as it should have been
once you were found to no longer be legally dead.  And I sorted things with 6 to compensate you
for the structure loss during a mission.
Using some of those funds, I had it tidied.  Cleared away all the
rubble and unsafe wood, and then had the soot cleaned off — what the rain
hadn’t already managed — so we could see what remained.  And there were
gaps in the walls that Kincade didn’t remember doors for, and well, you know
how I get with a puzzle…. so we’ve been doing research and I’ve been creating
blueprints and I’m so sorry this is such an intrusion.  Once I
started it was hard to stop.  Kincade was looking for original plans in
the archives in the town church and was going to take digital photos. 
He’s probably calling to tell me what he found.”

Q braces himself for a tongue-lashing, but instead gets a smirk followed by a
genuine laugh.  “I’ll bet Kincade loves you.  He was always
trying to teach me the history of the old place.”

“We may have fed each other’s enthusiasm,” Q acknowledges warily.  “You’re
not upset.”

“No,” James says.  “Amazed.  Amused. 
I really own it again?” 

Q nods.

James shakes his head, smiling a little as he takes another
sip of his drink.  “It is a
terrible intrusion,” he adds, looking sideways at Q.  “But then, I’ve taken to breaking into your
flat and sleeping on your sofa.”

Q nods and straightens his glasses. “Yeah, I’d spotted that.”

“And you’ve done me a favor.  To be honest, I’m relieved. For all my neglect
of it, when I found out it’d been sold, I felt the loss.  And when M died there…well, I couldn’t bring
myself to fight for it, but it still felt wrong that it wasn’t mine.  I was dreading dealing with it.”

“I may have led Kincade to believe that I had your permission,” Q
admits.  After all, in for a penny…

At that, Bond really does laugh.  “I can’t wait to see his face when I
tell him you bamboozled him.  Expect him to refuse to speak to you for at
least a week.”  Bond takes another sip, still smirking at the thought,
before turning to Q.  “Can I see them?”

“See what?”

“The plans for my home.”

It’s the first time Q’s ever heard Bond reference Skyfall Lodge as his
home.  Something about it makes Q feel light.

“Which version?  There are twelve so far, but depending on what Kincade
found at the old church, I was planning to dedicate several hours to revisions
this weekend.”

“Your favorite, Q.  As always, I trust my Quartermaster’s latest and best
solution to any puzzle I might be facing.”  Bond looks at him as though he’s some precious, mysterious puzzle,
and something warm flips in Q’s chest.

“They’re in my flat,” Q offers, feigning nonchalance.  “We could have a look and then call Kincade and
see what he’s found.”

James gives him a long look.
A look that tells Q that if James were to follow him home right now, it
wouldn’t be just for the
blueprints.  Then James finishes his
drink in one final swig and says, “Let’s go.”

Years later, when the Lodge has been rebuilt to be less
drafty and more secure, using at least four different construction companies so
no one else would be aware of the secret rooms and passages, they still take
delight in surprising each other (and the occasional guest) by suddenly appearing
places as if by magic.  Oddly enough,
several passages lead to and from the master bedroom —to the library, the
kitchens, the saferoom — not because it’s centrally located, but because James
reasons that despite the comfort of the rest of the house, that’s where they’d
be spending most of their time.

And as with so many things, Q is happy to acknowledge when James
is right.