Summary: Was it even a relationship? What did he even know about the man sharing his bed that he hadn't read in files? Or, Q is given reason to doubt Bond and their relationship.
Q sat and he stared at the computer monitor in front of him.
And felt a metaphorical knife of, very real, jealousy slowly plunge itself into his shuddering heart.
And twist.
It obviously wasn't his actual physical heart, he knew this.
But he felt it the same and so much worse.
The same couldn't be said for understanding his emotions, he wished whatever he was feeling currently was only a series of numbers and computer code, because that he could understand. But, sadly, it wasn't as simple as that.
What he did know was, whatever he was feeling, hurt.
(Jealousy, his head told him. That was what he was feeling).
Quite a lot actually.
It hurt enough to make him want to wrap his arms around himself, so he didn't splinter into a thousand pieces of pain, and then crawl into a hole and never ever come out again.
Why did it hurt?
Q had known what he was getting himself into when he become involved with 007. He'd read his files. He had heard the rumours, the legends, surrounding the secret agent. He'd been warned.
'James Bond in an actual relationship is a sight most people believe to be on par with that of flying pigs.' They'd said. 'Don't expect to be anything more than a phase.'
He had dismissed the concerns at the time but the warnings stayed close to his heart as the months passed and he continued to be puzzled at the state of their relationship, the words becoming more and more likely to turn up to torment him inside the chaos of his brain.
Was it even a relationship? What did he even know about the man sharing his bed that he hadn't read in files?
But Bonds reputation, which had been mentioned on more than one occasion, had never worried Q. It hadn't been an issue. Well, that was, until now. He supposed that was one of the reasons it hurt so much; he'd hoped that the rumours had been exaggerated. That Bond didn't actually attempt to seduce everything on two legs. That he wouldn't eventually get bored of Q and move on. But seemed he was displaying quite the opposite now.
Q focused his eyes onto the screen and watched as Bond moved his hand from where it had been resting on the woman's thigh, to gently tuck an errant curl behind her ear. Then Bond leant over further and whispered something into the woman's ear; she laughed. Q felt his heart constrict. He wondered what Bond had said to her. Was it one of the cheesy lines Bond had used on him? He had no way of knowing though because earlier in the evening, just before she had arrived, the secret agent had removed the ear piece that enabled them to have two-way conversations. Though said conversations usually just consisted of Q shouting at 007 not to do something and then 007 doing it anyway. It was typical of Bond. Q had to be always vigilant to make sure that his agent came back in one piece and alive. But it was a hard job; James Bond was so irresponsible and reckless. Which was why Q had hacked into the security camera system of the restaurant Bond was currently sitting in. He worried about him, constantly. But as Bond moved ever closer to the woman, and as Q's heart thudded against his chest, screaming for justice against this abomination, he asked himself why he was doing this to himself. Bond was a grown man able to look after himself, so why should Q have to torture himself this way? Why did he keep on watching? It was Bond's mission.
Q finally decides he's had more than enough when he's certain he sees Bond ghost his lips across the woman's jaw. And then, after that, he can't look because it is killing him. He stands up a little too forcefully and his chair very nearly crashes to the floor, but he catches it in time. He tells himself that he needs to do the work that he's supposed to be doing instead of being distracted by the camera feed, and really, he does. He hopes it will be enough to distract him. It's not. And in the end he doesn't do it. He sits staring at his laptop; while the monitor, with 007 on it, sits on the other side of the room. He wonders how it had ended up like this.
It had begun with a kiss.
It was only a kiss.
He didn't understand the relationship he and Bond had; there were no whispered words of affection, or utterances of devotion, and definitely no discussions on what they meant, and, in turn, were, to each other. No, Bond broke into his flat occasionally and ate his food, and Q was always the first person he went to when arriving back from a mission, not M like he was supposed to. When they fucked, it was passion, lust, heat, and often reassurance, but was it worth considering it to be anything more than that? And never, outside the familiar confines of each of their own homes, did they ever even suggest that there was anything more than a professional relationship between them. Those were the rules. Emotions had no place in MI6, it was too dangerous, too much of a distraction, and, as someone close to Q had once told him, 'sentiment is a chemical defect found in the losing side'. It was not worth it; it was a weakness that both of them could do without. Which Q was currently learning the hard way, with the pounding in his veins, his aching heart, his churning stomach and the terrible thoughts racing through his head. He imagines Bond with the woman. They're going to bed. The thought makes his stomach sick. She's touching his chest now. Q knows it's all in his head but. He takes off her dress.
He wants the thoughts to just let him go. But they won't.
When he almost spills his tea, for a third time, despite his best intentions of trying to act normal, over the expensive equipment in Q branch, someone tells him to go home. They say, 'I don't know what's on your mind right now but it sure isn't what you are supposed to be doing. You look terrible. Go home and get some sleep before you break something.' He feels ridiculous and even tries to protest a bit, only before packing up his stuff and heading home towards his flat. But when Q arrives home it doesn't help. All he does is sit down on his sofa and turn on the telly so it's a comfortable background noise to all the thoughts that are currently spinning through his head. And then he continues to sit. Something deadly eating away inside of him.
He must have fallen asleep on his sofa in the early hours of the morning, because suddenly he is waking up after feeling a presence enter the room. He sits up and sees a silhouette standing against the window. The room is dark, the only light coming in from the street lamps outside which illuminate the back of the figure, throwing the front of them into darkness and disguising their identity. Panicking, but only slightly, he is a trained MI6 agent after all; he reaches over to the lamp on the table beside the sofa and turns it on. Q rolls his eyes when he sees it is Bond standing there, his face expressionless and posture defiant. As if daring Q to speak first. But Q isn't up for playing games, not tonight, so he does. 'You shouldn't do that. Can't you knock like everybody else?' It's a conversation they've had several times and Q has since decided that James Bond isn't like everybody else.
James turning up in his flat and hours that have passed since the incident have done nothing to quell the anger (and confusion) Q is still harbouring towards the secret agent. Bond just smirks at Q's comment and continues to say nothing, which makes Q angrier and he gets up to leave the room and go to bed and never come out again so he never has to confront James Bond about what happened earlier. But when Bond moves as if to follow him he throws all caution to the wind, stops dead on his way to the door and says remarkably calmly, 'Who was she?'. Q turns towards Bond just in time to catch him twitch slightly. But Bond quickly regains his composure, and, while feigning ignorance, asks, 'Who?'
Q laughs bitterly and replies as calmly as he can, but there is a dangerous tone to his voice now and he is getting louder, 'Don't take me for a fool, James Bond. Who. Was. She?' Q is tired and he just wants answers. Q watches as James weighs up his options and as he chokes on his alibis. It's a while before he speaks, 'She was nothing. Nothing to be concerned about.' He says simply. It's the answer that Q was expecting, unoriginal and lacking in any truth.
'Oh, I'm sure she was. So why?' He wants to continue, he wants to shout why wasn't I good enough? and what did I do wrong? and please don't leave me.
Bond is quicker in answering this time, but his voice is still lacking any real emotion. 'Information.' Then expanding on his answer, 'I needed information for the mission and she had it. It was the quickest and easiest way of extracting it.' Q wants to believe him; life would be so much easier.
'Why didn't you tell me then? You could have told me. Why keep me in the dark?'
Why why why why why
Bond shakes his head and says, 'Because I thought I didn't have to. That you understood.'
'Understood what?' Q snaps, he is irritated by Bond's cryptic answers, and he dislikes feeling like he is a step behind everyone else; it doesn't happen often. Bond sighs and starts fidgeting with the cuffs of his shirt, a habit alien to Bond's usual movements, that are usually so self assured, and never fidgety. But eventually is able to get out, 'That I…' when he doesn't finish his sentence Q becomes increasingly impatient and asks 'What?' again. But it's less harsh this time, as if he knows whatever Bond is about to say is a delicate confession that must be coaxed out gently like a timid animal. So then Bond straightens his shoulders, strides towards Q and says, 'That I love you! You are all that I want. No one else.' And then he places his hand on the back Q's head, tangling his fingers into the quartermaster's messy hair, and brings their lips together. After a moment of being incredibly shocked by Bonds outburst, Q responds enthusiastically. He breaks off the kiss for a second to look at Bond, before he says 'I love you too, you emotionally constipated arse.' He emphasizes each word with a quick press of his lips to Bond's own. Then Bond captures Q's lips with his own again and mumbles against them, a hint of smugness in his voice, 'I bloody well hope so.'
Q smirks and whispers, 'Well, I think I can find a way to prove it to you, yes?' as he begins to leave a trail of kisses up the side of Bond's jaw; the unshaven bristles there, tickling his cheek. Bond just manages to say, 'Hmm… I think so,' before groaning when Q reaches his earlobe and begins to suck on the sensitive skin there. Bond slides his hands down the expanse of Q's back. He reaches the hem of the younger mans shirt, which has already ridden up and is exposing a few inches of Q's back. Bond reaches up and strokes the bare flesh underneath the white shirt causing Q to shiver and bite down extra hard on Bond's neck, ensuring that there will be a mark there in the morning. When Q's journey down the side of Bond's neck is obstructed by his collar, he growls and pushes Bond down onto the sofa. Bond lays back into the sofa cushions as Q settles himself, straddled across his lap, a knee on each side, and pushes Bonds jacket off his shoulders. From there Q begins to slowly unbutton Bond's shirt from the collar; licking, kissing and biting Bond's neck and chest in the process. Dragging his teeth across Bond's chest; to taste his beating heart. Bond sighs.
It's not every day that a 00 agent tells you they love you and while it doesn't eliminate all his fears, it quietens their roars. And, of course, it is then during that kiss, passionate and with enough tenderness to make his heart ache but in a good way this time, which Q realises that maybe he already knew. That maybe they didn't need whispered words of affection, or utterances of devotion, to know what they meant to each other, that maybe they had been showing it all along. He realises that the signs have been there all along, in each small 'be safe' and 'do try to bring the equipment back in one piece,' before assignments, and the way that Bond holds him tighter after being away on especially long or difficult missions. In the mugs of tea Bond brings him when he's working and the way he drags him to bed when he's been working to long. And in the way in which Bond comes home to Q.
But, Q decides, being told is nice sometimes too. It helps stop your insecurities from running a mock and making you doubt everything. And yes, he may not understand the relationship he and Bond share, he may never, but he likes it all the same. Because it's him and Bond and that's enough.