AN: Okay, I'm a terrible liar. I know I said I wouldn't start a long term 00Q fic until I'm finish with my other ones but I just really had to get this out of my system. Much darker than the little fluffy one I wrote a little while ago but I hope you like it and reviews are greatly appreciated.

Bond had needed Q. MI6 had needed Q. If the world wanted to see one less terrorist group, then the world itself needed Q. But everything went horribly wrong, faulty information and a double agent was all that was needed to make the entire mission go crashing down.

The place was going to blow. They had to get out of the crumbling building and quickly, Bond shooting several people to clear the way as they made it to the roof where a helicopter was going to pick them up.

Q was just barely keeping up. Field work wasn't his thing which any one could've clearly seen from the amount of sweat that covered his body. He was dirty and his normally calm demeanor had been completely thrown out the window as a clear look of panic appeared on his face. He was only just able to hold onto Bond.

When they were finally on the roof top, Bond let out a sigh of relief upon seeing the helicopter right above them. There wasn't enough time for it to actually land, or enough room, so a ladder was let down. Bond grabbed onto it turning around reaching out a hand towards Q.

Q was reaching forward when he suddenly stopped and took a step backwards.

"Take my hand!"

He didn't take 007's hand though. He stumbled, falling to the ground as blood suddenly began to blossom on his chest. Though no words came out, his lips formed the question. "Bond?"

"Q!"

Bond tried to jump off, go to his quartermaster but an agent who had been on the helicopter's ladder grabbed hold of him, keeping him from moving. The roof underneath Q was now falling apart. And oh god, Q was still alive! His eyes looked up at Bond's figure that was already moving away, fear and sorrow filling them as he suddenly began to fall.

"Q!"

Bond's screams carried on into the real world as he shot out of bed. Sweat covered his brow, his breathing heavy and coming in way too quickly. It took him a moment to realize that he had grabbed his hand gun, cocked and ready. Slowly, he put it down, his hands shaky way more than he would like them to.

Two years. He couldn't believe it had been two years.

Despite the length of time that had passed, Bond hadn't gotten use to the new voice over the ear piece. He still missed Q as much as before and the pain and his chest, though he could now manage it, hadn't disappeared either.

Even though not a day went by without Bond thinking of Q, today was the first in quite a long time that he had dreamed about that moment, the moment when he had left Q when his quartermaster had needed him most.

Still, it made sense because the mission that he was on actually involved the group of terrorists that he had failed to eradicate. He would have to keep a clear head during this mission but it would be hard. Bond would be lying if he said he didn't want revenge but he hoped that he could separate his emotions from the actual job. It had never before been hard to separate the two but now he wasn't so sure anymore.

Bond easily blended into the loud, noisy surrounding at the bar. Supposedly Gar Darién, the new head of the terrorist cell, commonly frequented here. Bond hoped to make contact and maybe even infiltrate the group from the inside.

Music beat loudly overhead as sweaty bodies danced to the beat and the smell of alcohol filled the air. 007 was familiar with this kind of place and easily moved around, searching for Darién. However, after about an hour, he quickly became discouraged, thinking that maybe he should wait the next day or if he had to he could always just get a group of agents and storm the place (M had specifically said to not go jumping in alone at any time and for once Bond seemed to be listening to the man).

With a sigh, Bond decided to relax just a little bit, though of course he wouldn't completely let his guard down, and have some fun. He began to dance a little, ordered a beer, and suddenly a little dancing turned into a lot and one beer turned into five.

It wasn't really that surprising though. He was James Bond after all.

He had just went back to the bar to grab his sixth beer when someone yelled out over the music, "Oi' I know you!" with a laugh.

Bond froze. It couldn't possibly . . . no it couldn't be him. The man then tapped Bond on the shoulder as he said, "Not even man enough to look at me I see."

At those words, Bond spun around and couldn't help the look of shock that crossed over his face. It was Q and somehow, somehow he was alive.

But now that he really looked at him, the man didn't seem like Q.

His cloths were wrinkled and extremely flashy, not something that Q would ever wear. The glasses were gone and now an air of arrogance and superiority surrounded the use to be shy and silent man. The normally clean shaven face had a patchy beard on it and the hair, though obviously combed, was still out of place compared to the quartermaster's hair style the last time James had seen him.

"Q," he whispered softly, still finding it hard to believe his eyes.

The man let out a huge laugh, sounding completely mad as he did. "Sorry mate, it's not Q anymore. The name's Gar Darién now. What do you think? Came up with it myself." He let out another laugh, not a trace of the former man left inside him.