NOTE: So the storyline is set under the background of skyfall, but there won't be an elaboration of the entire incident. I guess i'm just getting a little tired of seeing 007 being the tough guy or Q trying to soothe a tired soul like this whole time, so I might be trying something more mutual, or to say, trying to find a balance between the two in this one-shot. Also, English is not my first language. Please feel free to comment everyone;D
I do not own the characters. They belong to the talented Mr Ian Fleming.
You must be joking.
The sight of this fleshless young man in the black raincoat made him hold his breath.
Is the top intelligence agency this short of staff? That they had to recruit the head of IT department among college freshmen?
Yet there was something about this young man that made him intriguing. James wasn't sure of which. Maybe it was the witty green gazes behind the reflection of the spectacles? Or was it the somewhat nonchalant smile?
Why because I'm not in a lab coat?
Ah, this is going to be fun.
Because you still have spots.
And you seriously need some grooming tips.
My complexion is hardly relevant.
Well your competence is.
It's not hard to imagine him sitting behind a gleaming screen and fingers moving across the keyboards deftly. And that reflection, which began to become a bit annoyingly dazzling to the agent.
I hazard I can do more damage with my laptop sitting in my pajamas before my first cup of Earl Grey than you in a year in the field.
Damn. Not only is he good at what he does, he's also fully aware of it. And not withholding any of his egotism. So is this a threat? A warning to him not to misbehave?
Oh then why do you need me?
Every now and then a trigger has to be pulled.
Double-ohs are far more than killing machines, lad. Better acknowledge that.
Or not pulled. It's hard to know which in your pyjamas.
Though he'd love to have a glimpse of that scene.
Skyfall was a mess.
Six ended up losing their head and abandoning the wreckage of their old base at Vauxhall Bridge.
Well, not really abandoning. The remains can be recovered.
Yet the dead is gone forever.
James winced at the shite coffee. Since when MI6 has been serving this? He wanted a real drink. A good and proper one that could take him out of sober.
Before he could get on his heels a tall Latte landed on his table.
Thought you might need this.
The voice's owner said quietly. James remained still in his seat and watched Q taking his bag off his right shoulder and took a seat opposite to him.
This is exactly the last thing I need. I want to get knocked out, not stay calm and sober, pretending like nothing has happened.
Then that's where you're wrong. You can't get away from all this.
I know I can't. I'm just…not ready to deal with the consequences.
Being a special agent means you're prepared for whatever result it may turn out. I'm sure you're well informed of the risks before you took the job.
You made it sound too easy.
I know it's hard. But we can get over this. Silva's dead. That ought to count something, right?
So is M.
No response was received this time. The silence continued, leaving the room with only the buzz of the background and the sound of coffee downing his throat.
How's coffee?
The question came up out of the blue, and caught the musing agent completely undefended.
Not bad.
He was telling the truth. The smooth taste made him softened a bit from the inside, erasing the tension to some extent.
Don't blame yourself.
I'm not.
And don't get lost.
I won't.
How can you be so sure?
Because I know you'll guide me out of this. Out of all of it.
Well, I'm glad you can see that.
Thank you, Q.
It's a bit too early, don't you think?
No. Thank you for the coffee.
James won't forget the night when all lights and sounds went out in Q-Branch, he was standing at the office door, at the receiving end of the furious look from his quartermaster.
The glare was so long, long and deep and of course he glared back.
Tell me you regret demanding that from me.
The well-restrained voice demanded.
I don't.
Never had been a man without a backbone his whole life.
Fuck off then, James Bond. I'm not adding myself onto your bed-list just because you asked.
Why? It was a fair request.
The brunette's deadly gaze was about to burn a hole on his forehead.
Why, because you should have heard yourself, you bastard. I know you don't want me, you just need me to fill in a blank. Like you always do with all those poor women on your missions. That's why.
Bond had nothing to retort. He was, feeling lonely and fragile. After the unsuccessful mission in India. Too many lives have been cost. He was there yet there was nothing he could do but to watch the life being drained up from them. To hear them pleading for life yet could not stop the inevitable loss.
He just needs some distractions. Alcohol won't do this time. It just won't.
You can either leave or standing out there like a fool. I'm calling it a day.
Oddly enough, Q let him into his office, tossing a blanket to him and tucked himself in onto the couch.
So this is how the quartermaster reloads himself. It really isn't the best way James can imagine.
Q clearly needed the sleep terribly much. His hair even messier than usual, tired eyelids eventually relaxed in slumber, along with his frowning eyebrows and his lean limbs.
Bond sat down next to the couch, with a glass of scotch in one hand. He mused himself while listening to the even breath of his quartermaster, wondering if this, this very moment, is what people would call the moment of his life.
James was half-asleep when his companion awoke with a startle.
Q gasped to his consciousness, curling uncomfortably in his blanket. He let out a heavy sigh and covered his face with both palms.
James touched his shoulder gently.
Q was a little startled with the touch, despite of the softness.
Bad dream?
He nodded tiredly.
Tell me you're not on vigil.
I'm not. I just couldn't sleep.
Then you're in good company now.
I'd never saw you as one with bad dreams.
Everyone has bad dreams, James. It's not just you.
But…you. You seem perfectly…whole in the day time. Ordering people about.
It's my duty.
It's two. Just try to get some sleep.
James was just lifting his glass to his lips, when a hand moved along his arm, clinging to his shirt.
He gave him one hand.
Q held it so firmly like it was his only hope to abide in this world. Sinking a bit back into the couch, he let out a sigh. This time a sigh of content. And relief.
Good to know you're here.
My pleasure. Sleep now, quartermaster.
Good night, James.
He landed a soft kiss on the back of Q's hand.
By the time Q woke up again, the agent was gone. Leaving no trace of him staying over the night. The glass had been washed and put back into place, along with the half-empty bottle of scotch. The blanket was folded neatly on the other side of his couch, exactly where it was before he gave it to him.
Q wondered if he just had a dream.
He wandered to the gym to find the double-oh on work.
So how was your sleep, 007? If you had any I mean.
James was pulled back to reality from his musing, and spared a glance towards the speaker.
After like 5 drinks I did have a nap. Thanks for asking.
Q trained his eyes down the agents body. The agent's polo shirt was soaked in sweat, showing the exact shape of the muscular torso. He found himself holding his breath.
Would you care some company for breakfast?
James gave him a mysterious smile.
I wouldn't mind.
Q shrugged and eyes sneeked down at his hands.
Very well then. You take your time. I'll see you at the cafeteria.
It seemed to Q that the double-ohs doesn't calculate their time as normal people do.
Despite the knowledge that Bond hadn't had much sleep last night, Q still found the double-oh refreshed and stunning when he showed up in his suit and tie, striding across the room to greet him with a smile.
Over their first cuppa, Q couldn't hold back his concern. It seemed that he's long over with fighting with 007.
Do you want to talk?
About what? Exactly?
About you. About India.
You know what happened in India. You were there, too.
It's not the same when you're actually THERE. I just want you to know that I understand.
Then there's nothing left to talk about.
I think you may be in need of some psych eval.
You obviously don't know me that well as you claimed you do.
…You know, I can give it to you…what you required from me last night.
And the condition is?
That we take things slowly and properly. Like adults.
Oh, I'm not sure about that, quartermaster.
Then you can get the same old answer.
James withdrew his stare from his quartermaster to his coffee. It somehow tastes better than usual. He wondered if the young man had put anything magical in it.
I think I'll take the offer. So where do we start?
We start from sharing breakfast.
That's a lot to ask for. You know I can't be around all the time.
Last time I checked you still have two weeks before your next mission.
Damn the boy. Bond muttered to himself inwardly.
Sugar?
One for the tea, please.
END
*Thanks for reading! Right now I'm writing several one-shots and a long one, some of them are relevant and some are not. Also I've been having this amazing idea and has jogged it down. All they need are some polishing work. Will post them when they're ready for your eyes!