Bond entered Q's hotel room quietly the following morning. The boy was sprawled face down in what could only be described as a recovery position on his bed, surrounded by letters. Bond noted he'd had the presence of mind to drink the water and down the pills at some point in the night. Good. The car journey back to London might not be nearly so precarious than it would be were Q having to hang his head out the window every 10 miles or so to evacuate his stomach.

Bond bent down soundlessly with the intention of waking him as gently as possible when his eyes fell on the photo beneath Q's hand. He gently slipped it from beneath his palm and took in the sight of Charles Sebastian standing behind and wrapped around Q, a smile so infuriatingly beautiful and happy, Bond felt a twinge in his chest at the sight of the embrace. He cast his mind back to his own not-so-distant past and could almost feel Vesper's embrace as he gazed at the image reflected back at him. It lasted only a moment as he mentally shook himself back to the present. He placed the photo back in position, noticing one of the many letters strewn about, open flat alongside it, well frayed around the edges as though read many times, over and over. Thumbed by an owner who had pored over the contents contained within in reverence for the passion betrayed by its words.

"... and when you held me close and lay me down our first time together, whispering, with that infuriatingly beautiful smile on your face, "why don't you just lie back and think of England?" I'll never forget the look on your face when I replied, "why would I think of England when I've got the world at my feet?" Memories like those sustain me, Charles, make me grateful for every precious moment..."

Christ.

Bond considered himself a romantic, albeit in a caddish sort of way, but a romantic nonetheless, capable of wooing entire convents into submission. Next to Q though, his honorary self-bestowed degree from the College of Cyrano De Bergerac may well have to be revoked. Excellent. He had actually moved his own goalposts, from seeking the sexual conquest of his younger superior to being on the verge of falling for an insufferable romantic. Marvellous...

Bond hadn't realised how lost he was getting in the words until a groan broke through. He leaned forward towards Q as though he had just arrived in the room with the intention of waking him. Which he had to be fair. Sort of.

"Oh good. You're alive."

Q lifted his head. "If this is what life feels like, Bond, permission granted to put your Licence to Kill to full effect." He slumped down again and buried his head with a groan, stopping short as he regretted the echo of said groan evidently reverberating around his dehydrated skull.

Bond retrieved another glass of water and put it beside him.

"Breakfast?" he asked a little too cheerily.

"Remove yourself, Bond, or I won't be responsible for my actions."

"Best save the threats of physical violence for when you can actually follow through. There's a good fellow." He decided to leave him to wallow. Mollycoddling would not improve his mood. He poked his head back through the door for a parting shot. "Checkout in an hour, Q. Don't make me fireman lift you out of the building. It'll be more embarrassing in the cold light of day."

The groan that followed as Bond closed the door suggested a few memories of last night were returning. Bond indulged in a satisfied grin and headed down to breakfast.


"I know I shouldn't admit this, but I sometimes forget that you're really quite good at what you do, aren't you?" Q said breathlessly.

"Well, I have an excellent Quartermaster watching my back," Bond countered calmly. "Seems only fair I get to return the favour now and again."

M had been correct in her suspicion that someone, somewhere would know about Charles Sebastian and his connection to the Quartermaster, out in the open for the occasion of his funeral and easy pickings, or rather would have been had Bond not been there to save his scrawny backside. The car chase had lasted only eight minutes, Bond losing them long enough to take cover while he grabbed the bazooka from the boot of his car and blew the would-be kidnappers to kingdom come. Because of course, MI6 agents always carry bazookas in the boot of their cars. "Only when that car also carries one of the intelligence service's most important assets," he'd said.

God the man was vexing, thought Q, as their capital city and home slowly appeared against the skyline. But damn it to hell, bloody good at what he did.

"Well let's hope there's not an "again" for a while. Or ever for that matter," he amended. Not that he had minded one bit seeing Bond in his element, in action firsthand.

"And by the way, Q, it helps if you keep your eyes open and actually look at your target as your firing a weapon," Bond said wryly. Almost a reprimand but never close enough to be perceived as such by a superior.

"Well, I design and invent weapons and tech, Bond. I don't actually use them."

Bond looked at him with mock incredulity. "You don't test your weapons?"

"Of course they're bloody tested but I don't do it personally!" Q said, slightly exasperated and adrenaline-pulsing as a result of the last 15-minute experience, but at least his mind was off other things.

"Unbelievable," Bond shook his head as he drove on, London drawing ever closer. "To my knowledge, even MI6 desk jockeys have to do some time on the shooting range working on their target practice." He looked at Q from the corner of his eye. The man was looking decidedly sheepish.

"Well?" asked Bond, a hint impatient. Q mumbled something. Bond could only catch every third word but he figured out enough.

"You're not serious? You're FORGING your range hours?!"

Q had the decency to look chastised by the agent's indignity. Bond huffed and reigned himself in, remembering why he was here and the emotional stress Q must already be suffering from under the circumstances.

"Fine. Well it's nothing we can't rectify. As soon as we get back, I'm booking practice time on the range and YOU are joining me."

Q frowned to himself but decided it was in his best interests in that moment not to dispute the demand. Yet.