Somehow Q managed to continue working after Bond had driven off with the reconstructed Aston Martin, a smug Madeleine at his side. Q had made it through the day, the few people working at the time being all too busy to pay attention to his subdued mood. He even put in the extra hours like he had done since the Skyfall incident, keeping up the appearance of normalcy for anyone around. The way home was blessedly uneventful; the Tube almost empty by that time of the night. He silently opened and closed the front door, lest he would be rousing his landlady who was as nosy as they came. Quietly he made it up the stairs letting out a small sigh of relief once the door to his flat was closed and locked for good measure. The cats greeted him with less enthusiasm these days, Mrs Turner being the main food provider since Q had barely been at home for more than sleeping and a change of clothes for the past months, sometimes staying away for several days and nights in a row.
No, not even the cats felt the need to sympathise with Q. Taking off his clothes and shoes, he walked to the small kitchen and put the kettle on. Leaning against the kitchen table, he tried to recap the past few days. The final explosion, blasting the ruins of the former MI6 headquarters to smithereens, Bond's standoff with Blofeld, and finally, Bond leaving MI6, choosing Madeleine over everything Q had thought meant something to Bond.
The kettle clicked and Q poured the boiling hot water over the teabag in his mug. The cats had returned and were weaving through his legs, seeking attention. But Q did not heed them. He was lost in his thoughts, processing information. Something was eluding his consciousness, like an itch that was just out of reach. Something... Bond had said? Or had done? Q frowned, carefully sipping the hot tea.
For the past weeks, Q had worked closely with Bond. Closer than ever before. Bond had shown how much he believed in Q's abilities — not only to Q himself, but to M and the rest of MI6. Q had secretly bathed in the praise. Now, he was not so sure if that was everything to it. Had Bond tried to tell him something? Hinting at some kind of secret plot behind the plot?
If there even was a plot.
With a sigh, Q shook his head, willing himself to stop overthinking everything. Bond's sudden departure had been a surprise to everyone at MI6. Q's own crush on Bond had been straining in the past with Q knowing full well he would never have the courage or madness to act on it. The last weeks had been especially painful, watching Bond with Madeleine — hacking into Nine Eyes had kept Q focussed on what needed to be done. It had kept him on his feet, determined to save MI6, England, the World.
But now, being alone in his small flat, the only company being his cats, the thought of never seeing Bond ever again — it was too much. Q's legs gave way and he dropped his mug, tea spilling all over the worn carpet. The cats were leaving in a pretend dignified manner, not wanting to acknowledge their keeper's startling behaviour.
Q pulled his knees up against his chest, burying his face in his hands. Bond had left. For real this time. Left Q, left MI6 behind. Left with a woman he barely knew, who had deserted him and his cause mere hours before Bond had put his own life in danger to rescue her from certain death. This time, Bond had left for good.
The tears were unbidden, but inevitable. Q lost his fight against frayed nerves, fatigue so bone-deep he didn't even know if he would be able to make it to bed tonight.