Running.
Up the steps. Lambeth Bridge. Not alone. Slowing down. Man in distress. Collecting pieces of mobile.
"Are you okay?"
Watching.
"Me? I'm fine. You don't know me, but if you did, you'd know that I'm always fine."
Watching. Sweat? A tear. Touch. Why? Give bottle. Touching. Need to get up, run.
"What about your drink?"
Run.
"You can keep it."
Running.
White noise.
Running.
Up the steps. Lambeth Bridge. Not alone. Slowing down. Man in distress. Collecting pieces of mobile.
"Are you okay?"
Watching.
"Me? I'm fine. You don't know me, but if you did, you'd know that I'm always fine."
Watching. Sweat? A tear. Touch. Why? Give bottle. Touching. Need to get up, run.
"What about your drink?"
Run.
"You can keep it."
Running.
White noise.
Running.
Up the steps. Lambeth Bridge…
"How did you find me?"
Slowly Q put down his cup of tea. He avoided Bond's eyes, instead showing a sudden interest in the wooden structure of the kitchen table. They had sat in silence since Q miraculously had found his way down to the kitchen. It had been way past their normal time for breakfast and Marc Ange had excused himself a few minutes before Q trudged into the kitchen. He had been barely awake when he had mumbled a "good morning" to the room at large and taken a seat at the table. Somehow he had managed to eat what Lesia put in front of him, capturing the cook's heart when he gobbled down two servings and sheepishly asked for a third. When she had served the tea, Bond had to hide a grin at Q's deepfelt sigh of content, followed by a lovesick glance at the cook. Now, Q had almost finished a last plate full of pastries and small crêpes. The cup of tea had been placed beside the plate, turned in a certain way, before Q cleared his throat and finally looked at Bond, who indicated his right arm.
"No," Q shook his head, "no, the smart blood had stopped transmitting just before you," Q hesitated. "Just before you absconded with Doctor Swann."
"Absconded?"
"How would you call it? Elope?"
By all means, Q looked angry. Which–surprised Bond. Why would he be angry with Bond leaving MI6? Or was this about the Aston Martin?
"Is this about the car?"
"What? No!" Q looked scandalised. "What are you talking about?"
Better leave it be then, Bond decided. For now.
"So, how did you find me?"
Again, Q avoided his eyes before he seemed to decide on something. With a sight, he sat back and played with the tea cup.
"You remember the night you came back from Skyfall?"
"Vaguely."
It was Bond's turn to avoid Q's glance, squirming a bit in his chair. Even now, Skyfall brought unwanted memories.
"Eve had decided to, well to help you, I guess. We ended up in her flat."
Bond kept his silence. He had been drunk. Dead drunk when they had made it to Eve's flat. He remembered the sofa and Eve leaving him alone with Q.
"Eve was too drunk to be any help by then. I got her to bed, and sat with you in her living room. You," Q swallowed. "You began talking. About the past. Past friends."
Bond grabbed his mug hard with his right hand, his left was turned into a fist. He controlled his breathing, kept his face a blank, telling mask.
"At first, it was about M, Olivia. Then," Q took a sip of his tea, no doubt cold by now. "Then you started talking about, about Tracy and, and someone called Alec."
Bond's head shot up; now he was looking intently at Q.
"I didn't know you had been married." Q's eyes were sad, apologising. "You told me about her. About your courtship. And this place. Not with an address. Nothing about this is in your files."
The last was said in a slightly accusing tone.
"I most certainly hope not! I had asked Boothroyd to clean the files a long time ago."
No need to alert any nosy MI6 people to one of the few places where he could stay in peace.
"Oh. Yes of course. Boothroyd."
Bond frowned. Something sounded off when Q mentioned Boothroyd. Q fell silent, thinking. Bond had to prompt him again.
"And?"
"Oh, oh well, at first I thought, this Alec guy would be the better option. The way you talked about him sounded as if you guys were," Q made some obscure movements with his hands towards Bond. Bond looked at him, puzzled. "Well, as if you had been involved somehow. 'Best friends'," Q indicated the quotes. "Then, when I found that Trevelyan was undercover, leading one of these Russian Tro–What?"
Bond was choking on his coffee. He had slammed the mug on the table, earning a reprimanding look from Lesia. Now, he tried to get his breath back. He pushed his chair back and leaned down on his knees. He felt as if he was going to hyperventilate.
Alec was alive! That bloody bastard was alive!
"How?" was all Bond could gasp out.
Q looked nervously between Bond and Lesia, who just lifted an eyebrow, clearly indicating her displeasure with Bond's antics.
"Uhm, he kind of went undercover after the GoldenEye incident?"
"But," Bond looked at his quartermaster as if seeing him for the first time. The sleep tousled black hair, his green eyes behind heavy framed glasses, the old t-shirt, which Roccu had found for him the night before. How could this young slip of a man come here, in his sanctuary, and–and turn his world upside down?
"Yes, yes, you killed him, saw it with your own eyes, blah, blah, blah. How often, Bond, how often have you been declared dead and gone? And Trevelyan had help, not only from the Russians. You know. Boothroyd and M, your very own M, she was in on it as well."
Q sat back, as smug as he apparently felt, he couldn't hide his concern for Bond. Lesia provided some hot tea, nodding at him to continue. She was probably as curious as Bond. Except. Except she had no idea who they were talking about. What they were talking about. Why would M, why would Boothroyd keep this from him?
"I could find Trevelyan's file among Boothroyd's–uhm," again, Q paused, and Bond got the distinct feeling, Q was hiding something from him. "Well," Q continued, "Trevelyan is the leader of one of these Russian Troll factories. You know, you almost got him for good. Boothroyd had probably thought you wouldn't be able to align the antennas in time–or you would try to save Trevelyan. Anyway, he is in a wheel chair now. And still undercover, which was why I thought, Tracy and this place were the better option."
Bond rubbed his face with both hands, before he sat back up straight.
"Who," he cleared his throat, took a deep breathe. "Who else knows about Alec?"
"Uhm," now Q looked decidedly guilty. "I might have scrubbed him from MI6's official files, before I came here."
Bond frowned at him.
"It's just. Mallory doesn't know about Trevelyan. That he still works undercover, that is. Trevelyan has left updates on his mission on a special server, you know. Only. Well, only Boothroyd knew about that one. And M. It hasn't been used by anyone but Trevelyan since M, uhm, since Boothroyd died in that blast. I checked the logs."
Q drank some of his tea, glancing at Lesia, who stood with her back to the dishes, arms crossed and very obviously enjoying herself. When Bond took his mug, Lesia seemed to finally take pity with him and filled it with hot coffee. It had to do for now, Bond thought. He needed more information before he could drink himself into oblivion. By himself, this time. No need to spill more secrets to snooping quartermasters and unfriendly cooks.
Running.
Up the steps. Lambeth Bridge. Not alone. Slowing down. Man in distress. Collecting pieces of mobile.
"Are you okay?"
Watching.
"Me? I'm fine. You don't know me, but if you did, you'd know that I'm always fine."
Watching. Sweat? A tear. Touch. Why? Give bottle. Touching. Need to get up, run.
"What about your drink?"
Run.
"You can keep it."
Running.
White noise.
Running.
Up the steps. Lambeth Bridge. Not alone. Slowing down. Man in distress. Collecting pieces of mobile.
"Are you okay?"
Watching.
"Me? I'm fine. You don't know me, but if you did, you'd know that I'm always fine."
Watching. Sweat? A tear. Touch. Why? Give bottle. Touching. Need to get up, run.
White noise.
"You can keep it."
Running.
White noise.
Running.
Up the steps. Lambeth Bridge…