awanderingbard (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
awanderingbard) wrote2013-08-29 10:13 am
awanderingbard) wrote2013-08-29 10:13 am
Entry tags:
Sherlock/Skyfall: Coffee
Title: Coffee
Characters: Q, Father, M
Rating: PG
Warnings/Triggers: none, except for some slightly black humour
Spoilers: The Reichenbach Fall
Pairings: none
Word Count 1, 701
Summary: The new Quartermaster gets pulled out of Q-branch for a coffee break (and pep talk) with his father.
Author's notes: Second part in the 'What If?' series. This is Q's entry, Sherlock's entry is here
There are several mentions to the Quartermaster previous to Q (Trevelyan) and after confusing myself while writing, I made the decision to call Skyfall's Q 'Trevelyan' and the previous Q 'Q'. With one exception, which should be clear. M's first name comes from widely accepted canon/fanon.
Set in the Trio 'verse.
I've shamelessly stole some of![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
joonscribble's headcanon, because she has smart thoughts.
There were two generally accepted facts about the Quartermaster. One was that he was training Trevelyan to take over when he retired. Two was that he was never going to retire. He was ancient, even by MI6 standards, but everyone knew he would be there until he drew his last breath, whereupon the little upstart who formerly ran the Cyber Warfare division would take his place.
Thus, it should not have come as that much of a shock when Trevelyan was called into M's office one morning as soon as he entered the building and was matter-of-factly informed that the Quartermaster had had a fatal heart attack in his sleep, and that Trevelyan would be taking over in the interim.
“It's a formality to consider all possible candidates for any position,” she explained. “But the Quartermaster's recommendation will stand you in good stead. That is, if you wish to put yourself forward as a permanent replacement?”
“Yes, ma'am,” Trevelyan said, a bit stupidly.
“Very well. You will be Acting Quartermaster until the final decision is made,” M said.
That was three days ago now, and what had transpired since could only be described as trial by fire. A sudden violent regime change had put five operatives in extreme danger, and he'd fought to extract them for seventy-eight hours.
When the old Q-branch and Cyber Warfare divisions had been downsized and combined, there was animosity on both sides. Q-branch thought Cyber Warfare were bratty little twats who played with computers all day, and Cyber Warfare thought Q-branch were fusty old twats who sat around trying to find new ways of putting gadgets into pens. Q knew that Trevelyan's brand of genius would be the future, however, and he worked hard in training Trevelyan to lead the branch.
Trevelyan did not fully understand what that entailed until it was thrust upon him. It was decision after decision, and multitasking and delegating and coordinating. There was no time to stand still, no ability to actually sit down and finish what you'd started. He hadn't even had time to contemplate mourning his mentor. He'd slept in a corner for about four hours total during the entire three days. It was a completely different experience to the all-nighters he normally pulled. This was exhausting.
But he had done it. All five operatives were out, and safe, and mostly unharmed.
His phone rang, and he jolted awake at the sound of it, feeling around blindly on his new desk, and then putting it to his ear.
“Mmmra?” he answered. “Er, I mean.” Oh God, what was the right word? “Hello?”
“Hello,” came a deep male voice, sounding amused.
Sherlock? No, Sherlock was still dead. “Father,” Trevelyan said. He sat up as though his father could somehow see him face first in the paperwork. The crisis was over. Now it was just reports. “Yes. Hello.”
“I'm in London. Do you want to get a coffee?” Father said.
Trevelyan glanced at the time. “It's half three,” he said.
“Yes, and?” Father said. “Has your brother passed some sort of coffee curfew law?”
“No,” Trevelyan said. “Not yet. Erm...I'm a bit...well, I suppose I could... I may have to leave suddenly and return.”
“Then you would be best leave now and give us as much time as possible,” Father said. “I'll meet you at Happenstance.”
The phone call was ended before Trevelyan could agree—not that he had any objections. He exited into the main part of Q branch and asked Hadley to cover for him for a bit, and to ring if he needed to come back in.
“Right-o,” she said. “You look knackered, sir. Bout time you went home.”
Trevelyan elected not to tell her that he was in fact going to ingest a substance to keep him awake for longer. He made his way out of SIS, and down the road to Happenstance, which was a little cafe frequented by MI6 drones, due to it's very good coffee, twenty-four hour services, and two-minute walking distance. Father already had a table when he came in.
“You look awful,” Father said.
Trevelyan shook his offered hand in greeting. “I think I feel awful,” he said. “But my brain hasn't quite caught up to the rest of me, yet.”
“You're in the dead zone,” Father said. “You'll get your second wind in about half-an-hour. 0300 to 0400 is the worst. I've ordered already.”
Trevelyan opened his eyes wide in an attempt to keep himself from nodding off into the pot plant next to their table. It looked quite comfy.
“What...er...why?” he said. Good lord, where had all his words gone? “You're in London. Why are you doing that?”
Father's eyes twinkled in amusement. “I was asked to lecture at GCHQ, and I'm stopping over on my way home,” he said. “Your mother has graciously allowed me twenty-four hours to be of service again. I'm leaving on the first train, as per orders. Of course, should I miss the train, by accident, I may have to stay longer.”
Trevelyan grinned. Mummy had dragged Father kicking and screaming into retirement when he turned sixty-eight, otherwise he probably would have been the same as the old Quartermaster—working until he was dead. She insisted he have a chance to relax, and lower his blood pressure. Father wasn't very good at relaxing, and thankfully, even though his body was starting to fail a little, his brain was still a much sought after item at GCHQ, which gave him a bit of work here and there. Sometimes a brain was still better than a computer, especially when that brain belonged to Siger Holmes.
The waitress arrived with two cups of coffee, and Trevelyan dumped some sugar and milk into his. Father drunk his black—not even any sugar.
“I heard about your promotion from Mycroft,” Father said. “Liv made a sensible choice.”
Trevelyan still found it baffling that Father knew M well enough to call her by not only her first name, but a nickname of it. They had apparently crossed paths often in their youths. Father didn't really have friends, but he had a lot of acquaintances.
“It's not official yet,” Trevelyan said. “It's a provisory appointment.”
“That's just bureaucracy,” Father said, dismissively. “If you do your job, there's no reason not to choose you.”
“I am a bit young,” Trevelyan pointed out.
“Age is irrelevant if you have talent,” Father said.
Trevelyan felt childishly pleased at Father saying he had talent, even if it was slightly indirect. “I suppose so,” he said. He took a sip of his coffee, and played with his spoon for a few moments. “You don't suppose Mycroft—”
“No,” Father said, firmly. “You have earned your place by being very good at your job.”
“I'm glad you think so,” Trevelyan said. “Half the branch just gaped when they heard the news. I gaped when I heard the news. I mean, I thought...I knew my boss was training me, but...he's ancient. He was ancient. I never thought of him as...mortal, I suppose. He was fine, and then...”
“That would be the ideal way to go, I think,” Father said. “I wouldn't want a lot of fuss and bother about it.”
Trevelyan smiled. “Neither would he. He was never going to retire, so I suppose I should have expected it. I'm just...” he made a vague gesture with his hands. “I can't fathom...I'm not entirely sure f I can do it.”
“Don't be stupid,” Father said. “Of course you can. Liv wouldn't have promoted you if she didn't think you could do it. Don't undermine yourself.”
Trevelyan nodded. “It's a bit fun,” he admitted.
Father grinned. “Work is always fun,” he said. “I've never understood why people complain about it so much.”
“Me either,” Trevelyan said. “Do you enjoy lecturing?”
Father considered this carefully. “Maybe,” he said, in the end. “I obviously enjoy the subject, and I enjoy getting in there again and still being relevant. Some of them are good students, some of them are contumelious brats, and they only see me as an artifact. I would quite happily kill the lot of them. But the ones who want to learn are tolerable.”
Trevelyan thought that was pretty much exactly the conflict between Cyber Warfare and Q-branch. He supposed it was a universal problem when one generation bumped up against another. Neither one had much respect for their counterparts.
“You were always quite a good teacher,” Trevelyan said.
“Was I?” Father said, raising his eyebrows in surprise. “Good Lord, it took everything I had to keep my patience when you didn't understand something.”
“Well, the threat of impending death did make me do my best to understand,” Trevelyan joked.
“I would have never killed you,” Father said. “I always removed myself from the situation before I became fillicidal.”
“That was very kind of you,” Trevelyan said.
“Your mother would have been very displeased,” Father added.
“I think 'displeased' might be an understatement,” Trevelyan said, with a laugh.
“Speaking of your mother's displeasure—which is a slightly odd segue way, I confess,” Father said. “How is your other work coming along?”
Trevelyan took a moment to catch on. “Oh, the Swiss affair?” he said. Father nodded. “It's a bit quiet on their end, but as far as I know, things are proceeding acceptably well.”
“Your mother is worried,” Father said.
Trevelyan hazarded that she might not be the only one. “She can rest easy for the moment,” he said.
They sipped away at their coffees, the personal conversations over now, and moved on to more generic subjects. They chatted a bit about the latest technological advances. Trevelyan's technophilia came from Father, and he was always ready to hear what was new in the world.
Trevelyan's mobile rang just before he was done his second cup. “I'm sorry, I have to go,” he said.
“Don't apologize,” Father said. “I don't care.”
Trevelyan smiled, and shook his hand in goodbye, fumbling for some money in his wallet.
“My shout,” Father said. “Consider it congratulatory.”
“Thank you,” Trevelyan said. “Good to see you.”
Father nodded. “Stop being stupid.”
“Yes, sir,” Trevelyan said.
He returned back to SIS, and Hadley waved him over when he arrived.
“006 needs an extraction, he has an injured asset with him,” she explained. “I haven't been able to establish a link to the security system, it just keeps kicking me out as soon as I'm in.”
Trevelyan put his earpiece in. “006, tell me what you're looking at,” he said.
“Who's this?” 006 asked.
“This is the Quartermaster,” Q said, confidently. “And I'm going to get you out.”
Characters: Q, Father, M
Rating: PG
Warnings/Triggers: none, except for some slightly black humour
Spoilers: The Reichenbach Fall
Pairings: none
Word Count 1, 701
Summary: The new Quartermaster gets pulled out of Q-branch for a coffee break (and pep talk) with his father.
Author's notes: Second part in the 'What If?' series. This is Q's entry, Sherlock's entry is here
There are several mentions to the Quartermaster previous to Q (Trevelyan) and after confusing myself while writing, I made the decision to call Skyfall's Q 'Trevelyan' and the previous Q 'Q'. With one exception, which should be clear. M's first name comes from widely accepted canon/fanon.
Set in the Trio 'verse.
I've shamelessly stole some of
joonscribble's headcanon, because she has smart thoughts.There were two generally accepted facts about the Quartermaster. One was that he was training Trevelyan to take over when he retired. Two was that he was never going to retire. He was ancient, even by MI6 standards, but everyone knew he would be there until he drew his last breath, whereupon the little upstart who formerly ran the Cyber Warfare division would take his place.
Thus, it should not have come as that much of a shock when Trevelyan was called into M's office one morning as soon as he entered the building and was matter-of-factly informed that the Quartermaster had had a fatal heart attack in his sleep, and that Trevelyan would be taking over in the interim.
“It's a formality to consider all possible candidates for any position,” she explained. “But the Quartermaster's recommendation will stand you in good stead. That is, if you wish to put yourself forward as a permanent replacement?”
“Yes, ma'am,” Trevelyan said, a bit stupidly.
“Very well. You will be Acting Quartermaster until the final decision is made,” M said.
That was three days ago now, and what had transpired since could only be described as trial by fire. A sudden violent regime change had put five operatives in extreme danger, and he'd fought to extract them for seventy-eight hours.
When the old Q-branch and Cyber Warfare divisions had been downsized and combined, there was animosity on both sides. Q-branch thought Cyber Warfare were bratty little twats who played with computers all day, and Cyber Warfare thought Q-branch were fusty old twats who sat around trying to find new ways of putting gadgets into pens. Q knew that Trevelyan's brand of genius would be the future, however, and he worked hard in training Trevelyan to lead the branch.
Trevelyan did not fully understand what that entailed until it was thrust upon him. It was decision after decision, and multitasking and delegating and coordinating. There was no time to stand still, no ability to actually sit down and finish what you'd started. He hadn't even had time to contemplate mourning his mentor. He'd slept in a corner for about four hours total during the entire three days. It was a completely different experience to the all-nighters he normally pulled. This was exhausting.
But he had done it. All five operatives were out, and safe, and mostly unharmed.
His phone rang, and he jolted awake at the sound of it, feeling around blindly on his new desk, and then putting it to his ear.
“Mmmra?” he answered. “Er, I mean.” Oh God, what was the right word? “Hello?”
“Hello,” came a deep male voice, sounding amused.
Sherlock? No, Sherlock was still dead. “Father,” Trevelyan said. He sat up as though his father could somehow see him face first in the paperwork. The crisis was over. Now it was just reports. “Yes. Hello.”
“I'm in London. Do you want to get a coffee?” Father said.
Trevelyan glanced at the time. “It's half three,” he said.
“Yes, and?” Father said. “Has your brother passed some sort of coffee curfew law?”
“No,” Trevelyan said. “Not yet. Erm...I'm a bit...well, I suppose I could... I may have to leave suddenly and return.”
“Then you would be best leave now and give us as much time as possible,” Father said. “I'll meet you at Happenstance.”
The phone call was ended before Trevelyan could agree—not that he had any objections. He exited into the main part of Q branch and asked Hadley to cover for him for a bit, and to ring if he needed to come back in.
“Right-o,” she said. “You look knackered, sir. Bout time you went home.”
Trevelyan elected not to tell her that he was in fact going to ingest a substance to keep him awake for longer. He made his way out of SIS, and down the road to Happenstance, which was a little cafe frequented by MI6 drones, due to it's very good coffee, twenty-four hour services, and two-minute walking distance. Father already had a table when he came in.
“You look awful,” Father said.
Trevelyan shook his offered hand in greeting. “I think I feel awful,” he said. “But my brain hasn't quite caught up to the rest of me, yet.”
“You're in the dead zone,” Father said. “You'll get your second wind in about half-an-hour. 0300 to 0400 is the worst. I've ordered already.”
Trevelyan opened his eyes wide in an attempt to keep himself from nodding off into the pot plant next to their table. It looked quite comfy.
“What...er...why?” he said. Good lord, where had all his words gone? “You're in London. Why are you doing that?”
Father's eyes twinkled in amusement. “I was asked to lecture at GCHQ, and I'm stopping over on my way home,” he said. “Your mother has graciously allowed me twenty-four hours to be of service again. I'm leaving on the first train, as per orders. Of course, should I miss the train, by accident, I may have to stay longer.”
Trevelyan grinned. Mummy had dragged Father kicking and screaming into retirement when he turned sixty-eight, otherwise he probably would have been the same as the old Quartermaster—working until he was dead. She insisted he have a chance to relax, and lower his blood pressure. Father wasn't very good at relaxing, and thankfully, even though his body was starting to fail a little, his brain was still a much sought after item at GCHQ, which gave him a bit of work here and there. Sometimes a brain was still better than a computer, especially when that brain belonged to Siger Holmes.
The waitress arrived with two cups of coffee, and Trevelyan dumped some sugar and milk into his. Father drunk his black—not even any sugar.
“I heard about your promotion from Mycroft,” Father said. “Liv made a sensible choice.”
Trevelyan still found it baffling that Father knew M well enough to call her by not only her first name, but a nickname of it. They had apparently crossed paths often in their youths. Father didn't really have friends, but he had a lot of acquaintances.
“It's not official yet,” Trevelyan said. “It's a provisory appointment.”
“That's just bureaucracy,” Father said, dismissively. “If you do your job, there's no reason not to choose you.”
“I am a bit young,” Trevelyan pointed out.
“Age is irrelevant if you have talent,” Father said.
Trevelyan felt childishly pleased at Father saying he had talent, even if it was slightly indirect. “I suppose so,” he said. He took a sip of his coffee, and played with his spoon for a few moments. “You don't suppose Mycroft—”
“No,” Father said, firmly. “You have earned your place by being very good at your job.”
“I'm glad you think so,” Trevelyan said. “Half the branch just gaped when they heard the news. I gaped when I heard the news. I mean, I thought...I knew my boss was training me, but...he's ancient. He was ancient. I never thought of him as...mortal, I suppose. He was fine, and then...”
“That would be the ideal way to go, I think,” Father said. “I wouldn't want a lot of fuss and bother about it.”
Trevelyan smiled. “Neither would he. He was never going to retire, so I suppose I should have expected it. I'm just...” he made a vague gesture with his hands. “I can't fathom...I'm not entirely sure f I can do it.”
“Don't be stupid,” Father said. “Of course you can. Liv wouldn't have promoted you if she didn't think you could do it. Don't undermine yourself.”
Trevelyan nodded. “It's a bit fun,” he admitted.
Father grinned. “Work is always fun,” he said. “I've never understood why people complain about it so much.”
“Me either,” Trevelyan said. “Do you enjoy lecturing?”
Father considered this carefully. “Maybe,” he said, in the end. “I obviously enjoy the subject, and I enjoy getting in there again and still being relevant. Some of them are good students, some of them are contumelious brats, and they only see me as an artifact. I would quite happily kill the lot of them. But the ones who want to learn are tolerable.”
Trevelyan thought that was pretty much exactly the conflict between Cyber Warfare and Q-branch. He supposed it was a universal problem when one generation bumped up against another. Neither one had much respect for their counterparts.
“You were always quite a good teacher,” Trevelyan said.
“Was I?” Father said, raising his eyebrows in surprise. “Good Lord, it took everything I had to keep my patience when you didn't understand something.”
“Well, the threat of impending death did make me do my best to understand,” Trevelyan joked.
“I would have never killed you,” Father said. “I always removed myself from the situation before I became fillicidal.”
“That was very kind of you,” Trevelyan said.
“Your mother would have been very displeased,” Father added.
“I think 'displeased' might be an understatement,” Trevelyan said, with a laugh.
“Speaking of your mother's displeasure—which is a slightly odd segue way, I confess,” Father said. “How is your other work coming along?”
Trevelyan took a moment to catch on. “Oh, the Swiss affair?” he said. Father nodded. “It's a bit quiet on their end, but as far as I know, things are proceeding acceptably well.”
“Your mother is worried,” Father said.
Trevelyan hazarded that she might not be the only one. “She can rest easy for the moment,” he said.
They sipped away at their coffees, the personal conversations over now, and moved on to more generic subjects. They chatted a bit about the latest technological advances. Trevelyan's technophilia came from Father, and he was always ready to hear what was new in the world.
Trevelyan's mobile rang just before he was done his second cup. “I'm sorry, I have to go,” he said.
“Don't apologize,” Father said. “I don't care.”
Trevelyan smiled, and shook his hand in goodbye, fumbling for some money in his wallet.
“My shout,” Father said. “Consider it congratulatory.”
“Thank you,” Trevelyan said. “Good to see you.”
Father nodded. “Stop being stupid.”
“Yes, sir,” Trevelyan said.
He returned back to SIS, and Hadley waved him over when he arrived.
“006 needs an extraction, he has an injured asset with him,” she explained. “I haven't been able to establish a link to the security system, it just keeps kicking me out as soon as I'm in.”
Trevelyan put his earpiece in. “006, tell me what you're looking at,” he said.
“Who's this?” 006 asked.
“This is the Quartermaster,” Q said, confidently. “And I'm going to get you out.”
no subject
The conversation between Siger Holmes and his son was perfect. He's such a good blend of supportive but still ever so slightly sociopathic. It all works so well.
no subject
I had a real fight with him to find that balance. I started with him being supportive and he just stopped sounding like himself. I decided to come at it from a more 'but of course you can do it, you're awesome what is the problem?' angle and that seemed to work. I sort of feel like he might be under orders from Mummy and is going 'is this supportive how fathers talk? Yes, this is totally how they talk'.
I'm not sure if it's just the time period this is set in, but Trevelyan is actually less confident in this AU than he is in the regular one. Perhaps Mycroft didn't do too bad a job stepping in as Father. Or maybe it's just been a bad night for him.
Thanks for commenting! I'm glad you enjoyed it.
no subject
That actually reminds me a bit of Sherlock's relationship with John. "Not good?" "Bit not good."
Perhaps Mycroft didn't do too bad a job stepping in as Father. Or maybe it's just been a bad night for him.
I can also imagine once their father died, Trevelyan might have felt like the time for second guessing was over. One just had to keep calm and carry on.
Or Mycroft was totally an awesome oldest brother.
no subject
Hehe! I suppose Siger basically married his Watson.
I can also imagine once their father died, Trevelyan might have felt like the time for second guessing was over. One just had to keep calm and carry on.
Yeah, I think the Holmes brothers responses to the sudden death were 'I will control everything so nothing bad happens again' (Mycroft), 'Caring about people makes you feel Bad when they die, I will not care' (Sherlock), and 'Maybe if I'm quiet and do everything right no one else will die' (Trevelyan).
I also wonder if disappointing one's older brother is not so upsetting as disappointing one's father, so some of the pressure was off him.
Or Mycroft was totally an awesome oldest brother.
Yeah, even Mycroft isn't buying that.
no subject
Yup, that's more or less my headcanon as well. Although my Sherlock is a lot more self-destructive about it. I also randomly gave Mycroft a Freudian spin but that's because my brain does Freudian spins on stuff these days.
no subject
I would like to do something set around his addiction, but I don't know enough about it to feel comfortable, and I'm not sure if all the research in the world will help me be able to accurately portray it. The closest I've come is just after sobering up and Sherlock and Trevelyan awkwardly patching things up.
no subject
The closest I've come is just after sobering up and Sherlock and Trevelyan awkwardly patching things up.
I can totally see this.
no subject
I'm not entirely sure it isn't an extra layer of him overdoing it to persuade John, and it being more of a 'but I want it!' consulting five-year-old than actually need.
I actually really liked that Elementary switched it to heroin, it just makes more sense for Sherlock to want a downer vs an upper. I feel like he wants to turn his brain off, not dial it up to eleven because he doesn't have anything for it to do.
I can totally see this.
I have never had Sherlock be more unlike himself than in that fic. He's just so uncomfortable, it's excruciating. I feel it's in character, but it's squirmy even to write. He won't sit still, and he's having feelings and is upset that Trevelyan is awkward around him but totally not willing to admit that he's upset. He's using metaphors. It's mad.
no subject
He's using metaphors.
*GASP!*
no subject
I think Gatiss and Moffat said they felt it was an overused trope in Holmes adaptations, and that the cocaine use wasn't all that prevalent in the stories, more of a passing reference than an aspect of the character. I don't think I need to see a story about it to be honest. I'm content to have it as something in the past, and that he's sort of transferred the addictive personality to solving crimes.
*GASP!*
I know!
no subject
Yes! It works on Elementary, but the different approach on BBC Sherlock works for that show. I don't see a need to dwell.
(I keep running into fics where Sherlock relapses, usually because of some emotional crisis, and I sometimes don't even finish the story.)
no subject
no subject
So Sherlock's just a chip off the old block in a way?
I rather like Q's dad, though I wouldn't want him to be my dad!
I love the infighting between the parts of Q branch.
no subject
Pretty much. I have to admit the lure of writing Siger is essentially being able to write Sherlock in love and Sherlock as a dad, two things I would never attempt because they'd be so out of character. I've actually had to correct myself a few times for Mycroft's story. I kept writing 'Sherlock' instead of 'Siger'.
We all know 'stop being stupid' is Holmesian for 'I love you', anyway. :p
no subject
LOL! I love that they can joke about this—and that Trevelyan’s answer is “Not yet”!!
But I definitely love the last line and how his father gave him that confidence just by having coffee with him. Lovely!