A/N: I have set this post Skyfall but pre Spectre. Danny is 26 and Q is 33. Our story begins just hours after Danny finds the body in the attic, so if you've yet to see London Spy, I'm afraid you might be a little lost. I have plans for this story to be around four chapters, but you never know.

I blame Brilcrist and her amazing art entirely for this 00Q hell I find myself in. This is my first writing venture into that universe. I hope you like it!

Q stifled a yawn as he shuffled along the pavement, his messenger bag knocking against his thigh as he trekked the last few hundred feet toward home. Initially walking had seemed like a pleasant idea, a way for him to bring himself down off the adrenaline high of running comms so that he had some hope of sleeping tonight. Not that this latest mission hadn't gone smoothly- insofar as Bond managed to gather the intel without getting shot or blowing anything up. But as was always the case when Q ran comms for 007, he was convinced the older man was trying to keep him on his toes. There were far too many close calls than he himself deemed necessary, and so the walk home, he thought, would be a good way to unwind. Now he wished he'd just taken a bloody cab. It was late and all he wanted was to collapse into bed. As he slipped through the wrought iron gate that led to his front door, all thoughts of his bed suddenly evaporated as he caught sight of a dark figure crouched on his front step.

Q froze where he stood, suddenly wishing he had accepted the security detail his colleagues continuously insisted upon. But as the shadowed figure lifted his head, bringing a familiar mop of dark hair and grey blue eyes into the light, his moment of panic shifted to something else entirely. Q blinked owlishly behind his glasses, making certain this apparition hadn't been manifested by a sleep deprived mind. His vision only became clearer. As the figure stared up at him from his perch, seemingly rooted to the spot, he finally found his voice.

"Danny?"

The young man rose unsteadily to his feet, eyeing him warily.

Q moved closer, suddenly struck by the haunted look in those grey blue eyes. "Danny, what's happened?" he asked, growing more anxious the longer the young man remained silent.

Danny lowered his gaze, wringing his hands together nervously. "I'm sorry," he answered thickly. "I don't know what I'm doing. I just didn't know where else to go." His eyes were shining as he lifted his head. "Ethan-"

Q closed the distance between them, pulling the younger man into his arms. As his shoulders began to shake with sobs, he tightened his hold, one hand reaching up to pet his hair.

"Danny, are you hurt?" he asked after a moment's silence.

He shook his head against his shoulder.

"Are you in trouble?"

He hesitated.

Q pulled back, holding him at arm's length so he could search his face. "Danny-"

"I don't know," he answered. "It's all fucked up."

Q sighed. "Come inside," he said, patting his cheek. "We'll get it sorted."

Once they were through the door, Q deftly re-enabled his security systems before hanging both their jackets in the front closet. He led Danny through to the living room where he sunk into the sofa cushions. He was strangely quiet now. Q gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze, prompting him to meet his eye.

"I'll make us some tea," said Q. And he padded off to the kitchen.

He returned some moments later with two steaming mugs in hand- a chamomile blend he was fond of on late nights in. In the doorway he paused, smiling warmly at the sight that greeted him. Danny sat with his legs crossed on the sofa, stroking the fur of the fluffy white cat that had taken up residence in his lap.

"I see you've met Pascal," said Q, setting the mugs on the table and taking a seat beside him.

"He's very friendly," Danny answered, allowing a small smile.

Q hummed his agreement, reaching over to scratch between Pascal's ears. The cat was purring like a small engine beneath his hand. "Yes, Pascal is certainly the more affectionate of the two," he mused. "Turing is a bit shy, but I'm sure he'll soon make an appearance."

For a moment the two sat in silence, sipping their tea. Danny's expression grew somber once more, a storm brewing behind grey blue eyes.

"Danny," prompted Q, resting a hand on his shoulder. "Tell me what's happened."

Danny hung his head, gazing down at Pascal still purring contentedly in his lap. ""It's a long story," he said. "I'm not sure where to start."

He gave his shoulder a squeeze. "Then start from the beginning."

Q barely breathed a word as Danny recounted the events of the past several months; the chance meeting on the bridge with a man who had captivated him with three simple words. Afternoon walks and talk of soul mates. The season of doubt until both of them realized that they were right where they wanted to be. And just when everything seemed perfect Alex had vanished. Until tonight.

It was nearly midnight when Danny finished his tale, both mugs cold and forgotten on the table. Q sat in stunned silence as he let it all sink in, one arm draped across Danny's shoulders and absently stroking his hair.

At some point Turing had deigned to make an appearance; the grey short hair curled on top of Q's messenger bag on the floor as if he were the sole guardian of the contents within. Emerald green eyes blinked up at Q as if challenging him to remove him. Q simply remained staring straight ahead, long fingers trailing through Danny's hair.

"I'm sorry I've been such a lousy brother," said Danny softly, leaning heavily against his shoulder. "Three years without a word and I show up on your doorstep in the middle of the night."

Q shook his head sadly, feeling a sudden pang of guilt in his chest. "I'm the one who should say sorry," he said. "I'm the eldest. I should've done a better job of looking after you."

"It's not your job to be dad, Ethan," he replied, giving him a pointed look. "Besides, it's not like you knew where I was."

But I could've found you, thought Q sadly. He sighed. "Still."

"I just didn't want to go home," said Danny. "Not after…"

"Who says you have to?"

"I can sleep on the sofa."

"You will do no such thing," Q answered firmly. "There's a perfectly good spare bedroom upstairs just down from mine. It's yours whenever you like."

He could feel the tension release in the set of the younger man's shoulders as he absorbed his words.

"Thank you, Ethan."

He smiled. "What are big brothers for?"

The pair lapsed into easy silence until Q thought that Danny had actually fallen asleep against his shoulder. Pascal seemed content to remain in his perch on Danny's lap, still purring away. Turing finally abandoned Q's bag, striding over to rub against his leg before joining them on the sofa. Q scratched between his ears absently.

Danny shifted. "I don't think I can sleep. Or if I really want to." He sat up and reached for his mug, now ice cold. "I think I need something stronger than tea," he said half to himself.

Q's mouth quirked into an impish grin. "I think that can be arranged."

Danny was surprised by his brother's easy offer, after all he'd never known him to be much of a drinker. He was even more surprised at the selection. He never imagined the elder having a taste for scotch, and this was quite an expensive brand. But he chose not to question it. All he cared about tonight was drinking himself to oblivion. Anything to drive away the images that haunted him every time he closed his eyes.

He wasn't sure what drove him to his brother's door after he had estranged himself for so long. Truth be told, he went to Scottie first. The older man knew Alex, had spoken with him before. Danny had hoped he might help him make some sort of sense of it all. But Scottie, dear friend though he was, had offered little comfort; filling his head with thoughts of government conspiracy, making him question how well he really knew Alex at all. He didn't tell him about the cylindrical object he had taken from the crime scene.

When he left Scottie's, he wandered the city not wanting to return to his flat and all the memories it would bring, his bed that still smelled like Alex. He thought about stopping in some pub, but he didn't have much money and doubted that drinking alone in a public place would end well for him. And so his feet had carried him to this familiar street. He honestly wasn't sure if Ethan still lived in the house, or what sort of reception he'd receive if he did. How would he take to him showing up on his doorstep after so long without so much as a word? Would he be angry? Would he send him away? One look at Ethan's face as he recognized the figure on his front step and he realized how stupid he'd been. His brother loved him. In spite of everything.

It made him feel immensely guilty for the way he'd behaved the last few years; for not so much as letting him know he was still alive. As the two sat in the kitchen, laughing easily over their drinks, he knew why he came here. Because Ethan always seemed to know exactly what he needed. If he needed to talk, he listened. If he wanted advice, he gave it freely. If he didn't want to talk but didn't want to be alone, he would sit with him in silence, offering comfort simply by his presence. Maybe that's why he had stayed away. With Ethan he felt transparent. He couldn't fool his brother with a quip and an easy smile like he did his friends. He always saw past it.

Ethan set the bottle of scotch out of reach before they could do too much more damage, his own glass still half full in his hand. He didn't say a word as Danny relieved him of it, downing the rest in one go. He simply took him by the arm and led him gently toward the stairs, the younger man suddenly feeling quite unsteady on his feet.

Danny collapsed on the bed in the guest room, only vaguely aware of being helped out of his shoes before shucking his jeans and leaving them in a heap on the floor. Ethan slipped from the room, returning a moment later to set a glass of water on the nightstand and a bin beside the bed. He helped him under the covers, lingering just a moment to press a kiss to his forehead before slipping quietly from the room. Danny was asleep before he made it down the hall.

He awoke in the dark, mouth dry and stone cold sober. The clock beside the bed read 4:17AM in glaring red numbers. Danny rolled onto his back and draped an arm across his eyes, suddenly cursing his high tolerance for alcohol. Dead eyes stared back at him behind closed lids. He sat bolt upright in bed, gasping in the darkness.

Bare feet settled on the cold wood floor. He reached for the glass of water by the bed and downed it, pressing the cool glass to his forehead once he'd finished. He sighed. If he was going to sleep any more tonight he was in need of further chemical assistance.

Danny slipped quietly into the hall wearing just his pants and rumpled t-shirt, keeping his steps light so as not to wake his host. He managed the trip down the stairs and into the kitchen with a minimal creaking of floorboards. The half empty bottle of scotch sat on the counter where they'd left it. As he reached up to retrieve a glass from the cabinet by the sink he paused, suddenly distracted by a small scraping sound somewhere behind him. Frowning, he closed the cupboard and moved cautiously toward the sound.

When the source of the scraping led him to the front door he froze, swallowing down a rising sense of panic. A shadowed figure was outlined through the glass panels beside the door. A rather large shadowed figure that was most definitely in the process of picking the lock on the door.

"Shit," he muttered under his breath, backing towards the kitchen. "Shit, shit, shit." He heard the knob begin to turn just as he backed himself into the counter. Panicking, he turned to grab the first thing he could get his hands on- a frying pan hanging from the rack above him. Weapon in hand, he turned as the front door opened. The looming figure stepped inside and Danny swung.

As the man blocked the first blow with a heavily muscled forearm, he realized that this was a spectacularly bad idea. Arctic blue eyes fell upon him with surprise. Something gave him pause. Danny took advantage of the intruder's hesitation by taking another swing, but the man recovered quickly. He side stepped him with ease, catching his thin wrist in an iron grip.

"Easy," the man practically purred, wrenching the weapon from his grasp. As Danny futilely attempted to free himself from the man's bruising grip he suddenly felt much like a mouse being toyed with by a very large cat. He aimed a kick at his captor, which he dodged easily.

In one smooth motion, the man spun him around until his back was pressed against his chest, one arm locked around him and still gripping his wrist.

"Let me go!" demanded Danny, struggling against the weight pinning his arm across his chest.

"Only if you promise not to try and brain me with any more kitchen ware," said the man, his breath tickling his ear. It sounded as if he was smiling, the smug bastard. He tried for elbowing him in the ribs with his free arm, but the man didn't even flinch.

"BOND! WHAT THE BLOODY FUCK ARE YOU DOING?"

The two froze as Ethan came thundering down the stairs, glasses askew and his hair sticking up all over. Even in his plaid pajama bottoms and rumpled t-shirt he looked positively murderous.

"Let him go this instant!"

Danny was a bit shocked when the intruder did exactly as he was told without hesitation and he suddenly found himself free of that iron grip. He quickly turned to the man, aiming a kick to his shin as he tried to wrest the frying pan from his grasp.

"Danny- Danny, it's alright," he heard Ethan's voice in his ear as he pulled him off the intruder with some difficulty before stepping between them. He turned to the man holding the frying pan aloft. "Bond, stay!"

The man blinked at Ethan, looking affronted.

Danny finally allowed himself to relax as Ethan slipped an arm protectively around his shoulders, glaring at the blond behind his glasses.

"He did try to hit me with a frying pan," said Bond, a bit chagrinned.

"Good," said Ethan, hugging Danny to him. "That's what you get for breaking into my house at arse-o-clock in the morning!"

He simple shrugged. "You haven't given me a key." He lowered his gaze somewhere below the younger man's waistline, mouth twitching in a smirk. "Is that a taser in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?"

Ethan glared at him before reaching into his pocket to retrieve what- to Danny's surprise- was in fact a taser. He waived it threateningly at Bond. "Tread carefully. I haven't decided not to use it."

Bond held up his hands in mock surrender, still smirking. "Apologies, Q," he said smugly. He waved the frying pan. "I'm going to go put this away now. After that, would you care to introduce me to your double?" He didn't wait for a response before turning to the kitchen.

Q was going to kill him. Bloody Bond. He was supposed to still be out of the country. His flight home, he knew, wasn't until morning- he booked it himself. Instead, he stood in Q's kitchen, pouring a generous amount of scotch into a glass and looking entirely too pleased with himself.

Q stopped glaring daggers at the man long enough to shift his gaze beside him. Danny, it seemed, was no worse for wear in spite of his attempted assault on a double-o agent. In fact, now that the danger had passed he looked rather intrigued by this turn of events. He kept glancing between Q and Bond expectantly, a glint of mischief in his eyes. Q sighed inwardly.

People often underestimated his brother on an intellectual level, but he knew better. Danny was quite quick, especially when it came to reading people. He was practically a human lie detector. Needless to say, he expected that he'd figured out about the scotch- and everything else that implied.

Q cleared his throat, gaining the attention of the double-o in his kitchen. "James, this is my brother Danny. He's- going to be staying here for a bit." He spared him a sideways glance, silently seeking approval for the last statement. They hadn't really discussed it.

Danny smiled.

"Danny, this is-"

"Bond," the agent interjected, stepping forward to offer his hand. "James Bond. Pleasure to meet you, Danny."

"Likewise," said Danny, accepting the offered hand. "Sorry about the- um- frying pan. It's sort of been a long day."

James smiled. "No harm done."

"There," said Q. "Introductions made. Now I think it's best if we all get some sleep. We've had enough excitement for one day."

"Hang on, Ethan," Danny cut in smugly. "You haven't told me how you two know each other."

"Oh, he's not very good with labels," James answered, finishing his drink and setting the glass on the counter before striding over to invade Q's personal space. "Are you, Ethan?"

Q swallowed hard, suppressing the shiver that ran up his spine as James breathed his real name into his ear for the first time. He glanced at Danny- who was no help at all with that smug grin on his face.

"I- we're- well…" He flushed.

"I'm going upstairs to have a shower," James announced. He leaned in and stopped Q's mouth with his own, keeping him in place with one hand at the nape of his neck. He drew out the kiss until Q nearly felt his legs give out from under him and pulled back slowly. "Coming to bed?"

Q didn't find his voice in time to answer before the agent was halfway up the stairs. Beside him Danny was practically giddy.

"Ethan," he whined, looping an arm through his and giving it a tug. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"There's not much to tell," said Q, gathering himself. "We're not- I mean we're just-"

"Fucking?"

"Danny!" He flushed.

The younger man pinned him with his gaze.

Q swallowed. "Alright," he admitted. "Yes. But that's not the point-"

Danny cut him off by throwing his arms around his neck and hugging him tightly. For a moment Q worried he was going to cut off his air supply, but he finally released him.

"Ethan, I'm so happy for you," he said earnestly, his eyes a little misty. "You deserve to have someone who'll make you happy."

Q sighed. "Bond makes me many things," he grumbled.

"I mean it," said Danny, looking suddenly sad. "You should cherish it. Because you never know."

"Oh, Danny…"

"Just take my word for it," he said, taking his hands in his own. "Don't ever leave things left unsaid."

Q pulled him closer and hugged him tightly. "I love you very much. You know that?"

Danny hugged him tighter. "I love you too."

He smiled. "Don't you ever forget it."

Q was lying awake in bed, curled on his side when he heard the shower stop running. He was silently grateful he didn't have to go into work tomorrow. He was having a terrible time getting back to sleep. A few minutes later he felt the bed dip and a warm body pressed against his back. He felt breath on the back of his neck, a brush of lips as James began to press lazy kisses to his skin, trailing along the side of his throat. Callused fingers found the hem of his t-shirt, slipping beneath the fabric to brush against his hip.

"Not tonight, James," said Q beneath closed lids. "I'm exhausted."

"Never stopped you before," James purred, scraping his teeth against his neck.

"I'm in no mood to be your post-mission fuck," he answered sharply.

James pulled back, propping himself up on one elbow behind him, on hand resting on his waist. "You're angry with me for bypassing your security systems. Again," he said.

He sighed. "Well, normal people don't break into their colleagues' houses," he admitted.

"I'd hardly call us normal," he smirked, squeezing his hip. "Or colleagues for that matter."

"Colleagues who have copious amounts of sex. I'm not the one who doesn't like labels," Q muttered.

James froze. "Is that what this is about?"

He sighed. "Forget it, James. It's been a long day and a particularly stressful evening and I am exhausted. It's not exactly the time to be discussing the terms of our relationship."

James cupped his chin, turning the younger man's head until he was forced to meet his gaze. Arctic blue eyes studied his face. To Q's surprise, he started to laugh.

Q frowned. "What's so funny?" he bristled, rolling onto his back to look at him better.

He shook his head. "You know, for a complete and total genius you really are an idiot sometimes." He reached down to brush Q's hair out of his eyes, his palm coming to rest against his cheek; a gesture far more gentle than one would've thought a double-o agent to be capable of. "Although the sex is fantastic, that's not why I always come back here," he said, brushing his thumb against his cheek. "I happen to be desperately in love with you."

For a moment Q simply stared at him, feeling the weight of the palm and against his cheek. He swallowed hard, feeling tears prick the edges of his eyes. "Really?"

James smiled. "Yes, really."

There was a brief pause and then Q was pulling him down, crushing their lips together in a hungry kiss. James chuckled for a moment and then responded in kind, trailing fingers through his hair. The kiss was only broken when Q remembered that he needed to breathe.

"Does this mean I can have a key?" said James against his throat.

Q laughed breathily. "I've already had one made," he said. "I was just-" his breath hitched as James began sucking a bruise on his neck, "waiting for the right time." He ran his fingers through short blond hair until blue eyes met his gaze. "I love you, James."

He smiled, pressing a kiss to his lips. "Then I guess you're stuck with me."