They were tied to chairs, their hands uselessly bound behind their backs. In a cruel twist they were facing each other, staring at the other person in the cold room. Bond hated it. He was meant to protect Q. Not just as a job requirement, but as a friend, as a lover. He was meant to protect him. But they'd never counted on both of them getting kidnapped, and Bond never counted on not being the focus of their captor's attentions. No, instead he had to look at Q, at his Q, day in and day out, as he was hit and kicked and burnt and cut, and just sit there, staring into his eyes and giving him the only comfort that he could. They couldn't talk, they were under constant surveillance, but seeing the other person's face was enough.
Q, I'm so sorry.
There's nothing to apologise for.
I'll get us out of here.
MI6 will come for us.
Hold on. Just one more day. Hold on.
The door opened and footsteps clicked towards Q, who'd stare into Bond's blue eyes, trying to stretch the peaceful moments of healing rather than feeling new pain.
I love you.
Q wished Bond closed his eyes, but he never did. So they stared at each other, wishing and hoping and waiting for someone to find them.