James' fingers were sticky with the blood that seeped, red and insistent, from the wound low in his belly. The pain had resolved itself into the background of his awareness, but he felt light-headed, and it grew difficult to focus. Q's hands continued to move so quickly, arranging and rearranging the bits of the key, playing out a melody whose only notes were the faint clink and clatter of metal pieces on the stone. His face was utterly intent upon his work.

The sun moved through the sky, a golden ball falling through the blue. James heard Q give a soft hiss of frustration. The brothers spoke amongst themselves, every now and then, in low voices. The shadows gathering at the edges of James' vision were not only those of the trees in the lengthening afternoon.

Then: 'Ah—' With sudden certainty Q swept away some of the pieces and replaced them; they pattered down like quiet rain, faster and faster. James blinked to try and clear his vision; either he was further gone than he had thought, or were the little lines and circles actually starting to glow—?

There was a flash and a metallic hum, buzzing brazen in James' ears for a strange moment, and he saw that the hundreds of individual pieces had somehow melted and melded together so that Q now held up, triumphantly, a key. It was long and slim and filigreed, and the youngest brother snatched it from Q's hand with an expression of unalloyed greed.

'At last!' The black-haired one hastened forward, pulling the plain brass key from his pocket, and together the brothers inserted the keys into their respective locks, turned them, and pushed open the door of the crypt. It grated, and moved slowly, and the space behind it was in darkness.

Q sat back on his heels and ran a hand through the riot of his dark hair. The look of triumph had faded from his face and he now seemed exhausted, but he moved to James' side and knelt there, watching in silence as the other men entered the crypt, lighting their way with a lamp.

'Never seen anything quite like that before,' James said; it took some effort to get the words out. 'It was... impressive.'

Q looked down at him with dark green eyes, taking in the blood-soaked shirt. 'I'm only sorry it took me so long.' His voice was tight. 'And I wish they would bloody well hurry up.'

It was only a few minutes later that the three men came out into the daylight again, the youngest one carrying, carefully, a large cut-glass phial filled with a shimmering blue liquid. Q was on his feet in an instant; with some difficulty, James also rose, leaning back into the wall to support himself.

'You have clearly recovered the rapunzel tears,' Q said. 'Therefore I've kept my end of the bargain; it's time for you to keep yours.' He held out his hand for the phial.

But the oldest brother was shaking his head. 'I'm afraid,' he said, voice rich with insincere sorrow, 'that you have rather misplaced your trust in me.'

And then too many things happened at once.

The middle brother lurched forward, and out of pure instinct James ducked; the man roared as his fist collided brutally with the wall. But James was brought up short by the chain still fixed through the bracket. Q said, 'Bond—' and with a strength much, much more than human he grasped the chain in his hands and broke it in two.

James did not take time to think about what he had just seen. Ignoring the pain it caused him he dove and rolled and came up into a crouch, hampered still by the cuffs at his ankles and wrists; the middle brother was turning round, looking for him, and James used the chain as a flail, swinging it out with all the force he could muster. It coiled around one of the man's legs; James pulled on it, hard, yanking them both off-balance, and the man's head cracked against the flagstones as he fell. He did not move again.

Breathing unevenly, James maneuvered himself upright, crouching still with the cold heavy weight of the chain in his hands, looking for Q and the remaining brothers. What he saw froze him to the spot with sickened dread.

The oldest brother lay sprawled, face to the sky, his throat a mess of welling crimson liquid. The youngest brother was running, hell-bent towards the haven of the house, and loping behind him was a wolf, long-limbed and lean, its fur as thick and dark as Q's own hair. Even as James watched the wolf sprang, clearing the distance in a graceful curve and knocking the young man hard to the ground. The phial fell from his hand. There was half a scream, and then silence, and the wolf turned; its eyes were green and terrifyingly familiar.