James Bond hated going to medical. Everyone knew that. Actually, most 00 agents avoided medical like it was the plague. Contrary to public opinion, the aversion to the medical department had little to do with childish stubbornness. The truth was, the medical department was everything that 00 agents were trained to be afraid of. The place itself was a host for all kinds of diseases. The doctors took your blood and knew everything about you. Any double-oh knew that one less paper or digital file about you, the better. And doctors loved their files.
So, the overall aversion to medical meant that Q usually had a handful of agents a month stumbling into Q Branch with a needle and thread expecting Q to stitch them back up. Q wasn't exactly squeamish, but he was also not used to sewing injuries back together. Luckily, he usually had the chance to pawn the bloody agents off to underlings.
However, this night, Q was not so lucky. This was what he got for staying late to work on a new prototype for a shoe phone. Yes, it was very Cold War-esque, but Q likes to do a throwback item every once it a while. People usually didn't expect them anyway.
Anyway, this night a very bloody James Bond limped into the very empty Q Branch with an in-field emergency aid kit in his hand and a rather irritating smile on his face.
"You've got to be kidding me", Q groaned, lighting banging his head against his desk. "Is medical really that bad?"
Bond doesn't say anything as he stalks up to Q's desk and drops the slightly bloody kit onto the table surface.
"I love you?", Bond offers, and Q can see the laughter in his eyes.
The quartermaster sighs and unzips the pack, readying himself to do something he really does not want to do.
