"Every man has his secret sorrows which the world knows not; and often times we call a man cold when he is only sad."- Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Alec was busy stuffing a pair of Elliot's sleep trousers into a duffel bag when his phone rang. The number was unknown, but he answered it anyway, callers wishing to conceal their identities honestly being the norm at this point. Not that he had the time for any wanna-be super villain at the moment, loathing each second he left Elliot alone in his too bright hospital room.
"Hello?" His tone was stone grating against stone and no amount of fucks left to give.
"Alec?" The agent froze. No, no he didn't have the temperament to deal with this right now, not after everything that had happened. He was sure his heart hadn't yet slowed to a normal pace since he had clambered out of his car in front of all the police tape surrounding Vauxhall, the organ having leaped into his throat at the thought of the one person he knew for sure to be in the building. It had taken four policemen to hold him back before they had managed to stick him with a sedative, and even then they had handcuffed him to a police car, a restraint he had tugged at futilely. They had let him go only once Elliot had been pulled from the rubble, had told him that he would be able to find his partner at St. Barts down the road. The thought of Elliot in the hospital's morgue downstairs, a crushed pulp in a black body bag had sent Alec to his knees. "How-"
Alec cut the other voice off by hurling the phone at the wall. It smashed into multiple pieces and left a fracture in the plaster.
He finished stuffing various pairs of clothing into the bag for both himself and his partner with vigor before he reached for the old copy of The Velveteen Rabbit sitting on the nightstand with sudden gentleness. Its binding was in the process of decay, its pages yellowed and weathered by time, the golden lettering on the front worn down by the loving caress of fingers both large and small. Inside was a woman's name written in an elegant scrawl that Alec often saw mimicked in the notes left to him on the fridge, obviously by a hand that had studied the lettering carefully. He placed the beaten book inside the bag with care, folding a t-shirt around it before zipping the bag up and heading out the door. He didn't even spare a glance back at the shattered remains of his mobile upon the floor.
Alec had to use Elliot's phone to text the number back, thankfully something he was able to retrieve by plugging up a part of his broken device to his partner's home laptop once he had finally returned to collect the broken pieces. Elliot didn't mind him using his stuff, too pliant in his drugged up state to care as he played with the fingers on Alec's free hand. They would release him tomorrow, were only keeping him overnight since the hospital had been in such a rush they wanted to make sure they hadn't missed anything. They would send him off with extra tape for his bruised ribs and some lighter pain medication for that and the other cuts and bruises he had sustained in the explosion.
They had been lucky. They had been so so lucky. News reports played constantly on the TV in a corner of the room, each cycle with an update on how many had died in the attack. Each time the number would climb as some were found or died in hospital Alec would take Elliot's hand, would kiss each of his fingers, his palm, his wrist. The dazed man would giggle, would run the pads of his fingers lovingly over his partner's lips. Softly Alec would bite one and and Elliot would laugh while Alec wanted to weep. But he had known good fortune enough times to not look it in the mouth.
Alec only sent the caller a text once Elliot had fallen asleep, and only managed to get his feet to move by promising himself that he would be back before the other man awoke. When he reached the ally next to their flat James was already there, leaning against the wall with his hands stuffed in his pockets. He looked like hell, bags under his eyes and scruff longer than he ever kept it. Though his stance was steady Alec could smell the alcohol on him even from a distance, and despite the sunken darkness of his eyes they were attentive enough.
"Alec." James took a few steps toward him and Alec did the same, getting close enough so that he could firmly clock the other man in the jaw. James staggered, either from not having expected the punch or from letting himself take it, and Alec grabbed him by the front of his shirt and slammed him back against the brick wall, the blond's breath leaving him all in a huff.
"How fucking dare you." The brunet growled, nearly foaming at the mouth. "How dare you come back here after what you've done."
James met his eyes evenly, the blue depths a mirror of the torture Alec could find in his own. "Elliot?" His voice dangled upon the edge of a precipice.
He had seen the news then, from wherever he had been hiding. "What, like you care?" His words were a snarl threatening to catch in his throat. "You didn't seem to care when you fucked off to who knows where without so much as a warning." Alec released him, taking a few steps back and running fingers through his longer than regulation hair. "Do this to me, fine. It's not like I haven't done it to you before as well. But to Elliot? What has he ever done to deserve that? I thought things were going to be different with him."
He paused, but James simply stared at the ground, head bowed and shoulders slumped. It was infuriating, this resignation to his shame. James Bond didn't take anything lying down, and the fact that he knew he was in the wrong only peaked Alec's fury. "Do you know that you made him physically ill?" Alec continued, never one to simply let a fire burn. "He wouldn't sleep, wouldn't eat, just worked his arse off trying to find out if you were somehow still alive. God, I've never seen him so thin before, so pale. I could trace the veins under his skin with my fingers. I finally had to drag him away from his computer. You wouldn't believe the fit he threw. You'd have thought I was dragging him away from your dying body. I had to hold him down and try to force food down his throat. If I wasn't on top of him in bed forcing him to sleep he would have gotten up to work himself some more. I had to fight to keep him alive that first month."
Alec stopped for a breath, let his words float stagnant in the air, and James' adam's apple bobbed. Finally he spoke up. "How is he?" His voice was a thin glass sheet, completely see through and something Alec could break with any haphazard blow.
Alec let out a breath, relenting. "A few bruised ribs. Some dust inhalation. A minor concussion. Other than that he's fine. He'll be released from the hospital tomorrow. But James, you better make yourself scarce. When he sees you again it'll be on his terms, no one else's. If I find you've come to him beforehand I'm not going to be very responsible with my actions."
Alec's threat was a piece of shrapnel searching desperately for a target, and James nodded in resignation. "I'll just get some of my stuff out of the flat then."
Alec tossed him a key, and James just barely caught it before it could hit him in the face. "I put your stuff into storage. Seeing it around the flat kept fucking with him, so I moved it out."
James stared down at the key, rubbing his thumb along the warm metal. "So you got my postcard then?"
Alec looked away, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket. The card had come two weeks in, bright and cheery with no message written on the back. Alec hadn't needed an explanation. He had shredded it and moved James' things out in the same afternoon. "Yea. I didn't show it to him though. I didn't know if you were ever coming back, didn't want him to hope. Not if he was only going to be disappointed in the end." James' letter would have been the poison in Elliot's veins that finally killed him.
With that Alec turned to leave, but he paused a few steps away. He knew he had seen it, the bottle of Norpramin outlined in James' pocket. "You have to fight this. For him, if no one else." He felt James' hollow eyes follow him until he turned the corner back onto the street.
Alec was going to have to tell him, if only so that no one else beat him to it. So much was going on though. Elliot was allowed only one day of rest at home to heal before he had to report back to where Q-branch was moving to MI6's new hidden bunker. Hell, he needed to go lead it. Upon the death of both Q and R in the explosion Elliot had been the next one in line. To think, the little boffin James and him had singled out of the crowd after he had been especially snippy with them one day was about to lead the department.
It didn't leave Alec a lot of time though, and even less for him to cope with the information. He ended up putting it off throughout most of the day as they puttered lazily about their little flat, Elliot only wincing every now and then as one of his wounds was agitated, and Alec made sure to cuddle every hurt away the way he had always done for them. It wasn't until later that night that he didn't think he could put it off any longer. They were laying in bed, watching as the last traces of sunlight fled from their window, just taking a moment to breathe each other in. Alec had been so terrified that he would be all on his own when Elliot was trapped under the rubble at Vauxhall He appreciated the time he had to hold his partner close and reassure himself otherwise. Elliot's back was to his chest, their legs tangled together, and the smaller man traced soothing patterns with his fingers onto the strong arm wrapped around him.
"Elliot," Alec started, his voice soft in the otherwise quiet room, "I need to tell you something."
The brunet turned around in his lover's arms, only wincing slightly at the movement, and Alec was quick to pull him close again, to place a kiss against his temple in attempt to soothe. "What is it?"
The agent couldn't speak for a moment, could only run a hand through Elliot's soft curls as the smaller man stared up at him with a calm trust. Finally he managed to push the words out. "James is alive."
Elliot blinked. "What?"
"He got in contact with me yesterday. Apparently he's been hiding out on some island in the Mediterranean. He's back now, but you don't have to see him if you don't want to. I told him to stay away unless you asked for him." Alec was quick to reassure, but it didn't look as if his words were registering.
Elliot was completely still for a few moments before he began wriggling out of Alec's arms, trying to get up. "Excuse me." He mumbled, before disappearing down the hall. Alec let him go, understanding that he needed time alone.
The agent waited for about an hour, let the sun dip below the horizon and the moon take precedence in the sky before he went in search of his lover. He found the smaller man at the window seat in the living room, a dim lamp shining over his head, giving light to the book he was reading. Alec took the spot across from him, weaving together their legs that had to bend at the knees in order for them both to fit. Alec nudged him, and Elliot's lips turned up in the faintest curl, knowing what the agent wanted.
Over the past few months Alec had found that Elliot used old childhood books to self soothe, and the agent had been quick to ask his partner if he would read aloud, his own childhood having not been the kind that allowed for such pleasures. So far they had gone through a good number: Peter Pan, Charlotte's Web, Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, with Alec's favorite being James and the Giant Peach, the agent endlessly amused by the various voices his lover used for the cast of colorful characters. Elliot had his own favored book that night, The Velveteen Rabbit, one Alec had heard a number of times already, allowing his partner to pick up at wherever he was.
" "Does it hurt?" asked the rabbit.
"Sometimes," said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful. "When you are Real you don't mind being hurt."
"Does it happen all at once, like being wound up," he asked, "or bit by bit?"
"It doesn't happen all at once," said the Skin Horse. "You become. It takes a long time. That's why it doesn't happen often to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don't matter at all, because once you are Real you can't be ugly, except to people who don't understand.""
In Elliot's voice each word was a caress, and Alec closed his eyes and leaned his head against the window sill, letting the rhythm of his lover's voice wash over him and lull him into a peaceful drift.
As it turned out, Elliot and James would meet on MI6's terms.
Bond had been reinstated and given a priority mission with the speed and efficiency that only MI6 could manage during a crisis, the duty then falling to Q to equip him. Tanner had given him the place they were going to meet, and Q was thankful for the neutral ground, knowing the mess that Q-branch was at the moment, his footing sure as he made his way through the National Gallery.
He couldn't help but think of the last time he had been there though as he made his way through the large, lightly populated rooms. He had actually been accompanying James, there to help him blend in as he tailed an interest of MI6.
"That's what it feels like." The agent had told them as they stood in front of a painting labeled Leviathan depicting dark creatures with mouths full of sharp teeth too big to be proportional to their bodies and oozing black goo.
"What does?" Q had asked.
"Being on Vivactil. That's how it feels." Q had stared at the picture, thinking of black ooze dripping from between the teeth of James' classic smile until his partner's arm around his waist had pulled him away.
He found Bond sitting in front of the designated painting, staring at it as if it were challenging him. He looked haggard, worse than any post-mission state Q had seen before, and he wanted to offer comfort and pour salt into his wounds in equal measure. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Bond start as he sat down next to him on the bench, back straightening and legs spreading apart.
"It always makes me feel a bit melancholy." Q started. "A grand old war ship being ignominiously hauled away for scrap. The inevitability of time, don't you think?" Bond's lips pursed, and Q knew he had picked up on the insult hidden in his words. "What do you see?"
"A bloody big ship." The older man snapped, and Q grinned. "Elliot-"
"Double-oh seven." Q cut him off, and Bond's mouth clicked shut. He was not Elliot anymore. Not to Bond at least. "I'm your new Quartermaster."
Bond let out a sigh, leaking disappointment into the air around them. "You've got to be joking."
Q knew what he meant, that James had gotten his hopes up that Q was there to talk to him only to find out that he was there strictly on MI6 business. The brunet had been under a barrage of comments about his age ever since he had first taken up his post though, and he couldn't help the eyebrow twitch Bond's words caused. "Why, because I'm not wearing a lab coat?"
"No, because you've still got spots." The edges of Q's lips curled. At least Bond could still give as good as he got. The older man shifted in the corner of his eye. He still had yet to look at him directly. "You know that's not what I meant."
"I am here to equip you double-oh-seven, nothing more." Q's tone was as cold as his machines. "If you have something personal to talk to me about, please save it for when we are not on MI6's time."
A shiver ran down Q's spine the exact moment Bond's eyes turned cold. "Yes, Q."
Q handed over the ticket and the gun, and when Bond made his displeasure known at his kit he made another jab about him being part of an older age. When he got up to leave he felt Bond's eyes on him the whole way, an icy hand on the back of his neck. While he was still close he turned to give the traditional send off for all of his agents. "Good luck out there in the field, and please return the equipment in one piece."
He watched Bond's fingers twitch where he kept them loosely fisted against his trousers, knew the tell, knew that it meant the blond wanted to reach out to him, keep him from leaving. He didn't though, and Q left him sitting alone in front of his bloody big ship.
When Q got home he found Alec reading on the couch, lit only by a dim lamp on the side table. The cover was in Russian, and though Elliot had learned a good amount of conversation from Alec using words in passing he still hadn't learned the alphabet yet. The smaller man collapsed against his agent's side, letting out a frustrated groan. Alec put the book away, shifting them both so that they were laying length wise across the couch and Elliot was resting on top of him. The brunet buried his face into the warmth of his lover's chest.
"Did it not go well then?" Alec asked as he ran a hand up and down Q's back, fingers bumping along the pronounced ridges of Q's spine.
"No, it went fine. It just...hurt." The words dripped mournfully onto Alec's chest and leaked off onto the couch.
Alec pressed a soft kiss to brown curls. "I know. He's done this before unfortunately."
"But why?" Q begged, hands clenching in Alec's shirt.
"You know why. He goes dark on a mission and just...doesn't have the will to come back. It's nothing against either of us, but the work is hard on him. It affects him far more than he lets on. The motivation to come back is hard to find. This time it was because he was worried you got hurt in the explosion. I know this doesn't erase what happened, but he looked terrified for you."
"He didn't look very terrified when I saw him." The comment wasn't fair, he knew, but Q couldn't help the bitter taste heavy in his mouth.
"He's an agent. You know that." Alec's voice was calming, placating, taking his turn as the mediator in the latest dispute. "He won't show his emotions to you now, much less in a public setting."
Q sighed, his breath hitching a bit at the end. "I know, I just... I want him back Alec, but I don't know if I can find it in myself to forgive him."
Alec ran a hand through the smaller man's hair, mussing the curls into a further disarray. "No one is asking you to."
"But don't you want him back as well? I feel so selfish keeping the two of you apart." He was trembling, a very fine shake, a build up of all the tears he had yet to shed.
"Q, listen to me." Alec stopped his soothing motions to lightly grip at Q's hair, using it to pull the other man's head up to face him. "James and I made an agreement back when we first decided to get serious about you. We decided, among other things, that all this playing dead shit was behind us. That even though we were used to doing it to each other we couldn't do that to you. That you didn't deserve it. He went back on his word. As far as I'm concerned you can be mad at him for as long as you like."
"I won't be mad at him forever." Q was quick to reassure, green eyes wide and pleading with him to understand. "I promise, I just..."
"You need time to hurt."
It was like Alec had cut Q's strings. The smaller man huffed and dropped his head back to burrow into Alec's chest. "Exactly. Thank you."
"Hey, you're not the only one who wants to punch him in the face."
Q peeked back up at him, brows drawn together in confusion. "I thought you already did that."
Alec chuckled. "Oh yea. Well, I'd do it again for you. It felt great. Very cathartic."
"I should get you a punching bag with his face on it since you find it so therapeutic."
"Eh, it's not the same if it doesn't bruise and then bitch back at you. Thanks for trying though." Q chuckled, and leaned up on his elbows to brush his lips against Alec's. The older man ran a hand down Q's back. "It'll be okay. Eventually I mean."
Q ran his lips along his love's neck, sending a light shiver down the agent's spine. "I sure hope so."
The next time Q saw Bond was at work, when he pranced in smug over the capture of Silva. He had been conversing with Eve at her desk, the brunet excitedly explaining to him about the new restaurant she had been to the night before. He saw the blond come in out of the corner of his eye and dropped his head, staring down at the tablet in his arms as if Google's search engine had all of life's answers. Bond paused for the barest moment of a second, unnoticeable unless you were watching closely, and changed his direction to head for M's door instead. Eve continued talking throughout the entire exchange, never breaking her stride, though when Q finally looked up at her again her eyes told him that she hadn't missed a thing.
It was only once the door had closed and Bond was out of earshot that she leaned in conspiratorially. "So that's how it is then?"
Q sighed and pushed his glasses farther up his nose. "Unfortunately. It's all rather messy." James appeared back on the other side of the door then, visible through the glass with M and Tanner in tow. "I'll talk to you later." The words tumbled out of his mouth before he quickly stepped out of the room, not even bothering to first collect the files that he had originally been there for.
With Bond back on active duty though it was impossible to avoid him, and before too long the agent was practically hovering over his shoulder as he set to work on Silva's computer. He kept their banter witty and quick, not allowing for anything less than professional, and in the quiet moments launched into rants about what he was finding in order to avoid allowing Bond to take over the conversation.
He wouldn't let his emotions take control, wouldn't let all the words gathering on his tongue spill over no matter how heavy a weight they bore him. He was a professional, god damnit. It wasn't until a train was thundering by over the comms, the noise near deafening as it rattled in his ear that his throat closed up, heart leaping out to strangle him at the thought of Bond nothing more than a red splatter against some old tracks.
"I'm through." The words buzzed in his ear, just audible over the roar of the train.
Q swallowed in an attempt to steady his voice. "I-I told you."
And he didn't know if it was the previous scare or just how deeply his emotions had ruptured his logical thinking when, not an hour later, his only answer when Bond asked him to commit treason was, "alright."
Med Evac had flown Bond, Kincaid, and M's body back into London after James had called in to report their losses. Q got the information second hand from the Evac team, the voice cold and medical in his ear as it recounted the destruction that had been wrought in the country side. Q-branch had been cleared out, the workers having gone home and Tanner having retreated to his office, resigned to the fact that he would be getting no sleep that night.
Alec had joined him after the last of the workers had trickled out the door, and he had placed himself against the Quartermaster's back, strong arms circled loosely around his lover's neck as the man continued to work, sending an e-mail to Tanner with the new information. Once he pressed send he tipped his head back, resting it against one of Alec's broad shoulders.
"What do I do now?" Bond would be back in less than an hour. He couldn't leave things the way they were. Not after everything that had happened.
"What you think is best."
Q groaned at the answer, and knocked his head gently against Alec's. "You're no help."
The agent pressed a kiss lovingly to his temple, soothing ruffled feathers. "I know. But this is something you need to settle on your own. James knows that he'll never be able to get rid of me, but it's up to you to decide if you want to let him back in."
Q swallowed, and Alec turned to place a kiss against his neck as well. "Okay."
He ended up tracking James' progress as soon as he arrived in the building, going from his brief report to Tanner to the numb way he dealt with Medical. Q finally lost him when he entered the locker rooms.
He chose to wait for James there, placing himself on one of the benches as he listened to the water of the showers run. It was some ungodly hour of the morning, but Q hadn't been able to find it in himself to leave. Him and Alec had parted ways only a few minutes ago, the agent departing for their flat. Before he had gone he had given Q a quick kiss and told him that he would support his decision, whatever that may be. But how could Q find it in himself to cause any more hurt?
Once Bond was done sorting his head out in the shower he came out with only a towel wrapped around his waist, footsteps heavy as he made his way to his locker. Q knew he had been spotted, though Bond didn't acknowledge him until he had put in his combination and then thrown open the door with an echoing clang. Finally he turned to face his Quartermaster, his movements sharp and pointed and his face impassive. "What?" He barked, his voice a bullet sprinting out of a gun, but Q was used to handling weapons.
He got up from his spot slowly, not making any sudden movements as he approached the weathered double-oh. The blond stayed still, simply watching with an intensity that would melt a lesser man. Bond's hair was still dripping when Q placed a hand on the back of his neck, all of the muscles under his fingers relaxing instantly. He tipped James' head forward and the agent went willingly, suddenly pliant in his arms, blue eyes closing as Q brought their foreheads together.
For a few moments they stayed there, breathing in tandem before Q said, "I think it's time to come home."
"I wondered if that was how forgiveness budded; not with the fanfare of epiphany, but with pain gathering its things, packing up, and slipping away unannounced in the middle of the night." - Khaled Hosseini, The Kite Runner
Notes:
Norpramin and Vivactil are supposedly anti-depression drugs so long as WebMD wasn't lying to me. I was actually really nervous about writing about James' depression, but I had to remind myself that everyone experiences depression differently. My depression was different from James' is different from everyone else's. No one can judge your symptoms because no one has gone through the exact same experiences as you.
Of course I worried about the ending as well because isn't it just the teenage girl cliche that a romantic interest will save them from their depression. That's why at the end of this fic James is not better. No one can make him better but himself, but at least now he can fight for his happiness from the comfort of his lover's arms. At least now he won't have to fight alone.