Seven
Q had by now managed to get through about three hours of the most terrifying and first flight he had ever had to endure. Although when he was hired by MI6 he stipulated very, very clearly that he refused to ever fly no matter the circumstances; and if they didn't like that there were a lot of other employers he could take his skills too. Yet here he was. He had survived this far through a mixture of hiding under a blanket, flatly ignoring the fact he was on a dreaded airplane and dosing himself with tranquilizers that promised a full ten hours of ignorant bliss. They lasted about two until even Q's sleep starting getting anxious. This is what led him now to crawl into a fetal position like ball in the most claustrophobically tight space on the entire private jet. He did this in the hope that being in the smallest space would afford him better chances of survival for the inevitable crash, much like people do in hurricanes.
This is where Bond – horrible, horrible Bond who was solely responsible for convincing him to do this terrible thing in the first place - found him eventually looking somehow even worse than before. Bond had been watching Q's nerve-wracked display with amusement, not actually thinking Q would handle it that badly. As time wore on and Q disappeared from the cabin and didn't return the agent felt as if it was his responsibility to check on his lovely quartermaster, perhaps torment him a little further if the mood took him.
"Q, are you alright?" Bond bent down beside his friend.
"No." Q said shortly, his head between his bent knees as he sat on the floor.
"I could take your mind off it if you like?" Bond suavely attempted to put into practice the plan he'd spent the last ten minutes perfecting back in the cabin.
"How?"
"Come back to the cabin."
"Alcohol. Really, Bond?" Q asked skeptically as he saw all the mini bottles Bond had lined up on the table.
"It will help, I promise." Bond reasoned with a concerned but amused look that told Q he was at least trying to help but not without some benefit to himself. Like the benefit of watching Q get entirely sloshed, a sight which despite working together for months, Bond had yet to see.
"Give it here." Q said shortly as another wave of fear induced nausea hit him. He tipped the bottle back to free him of his fears. Bond followed suit and soon the two were seated in the cabin, laughing over something that neither of them could remember. James Bond learnt that a drunk Q was something he was very much going to enjoy in the future.