Summary: Picks up where "The Spy Who Came in From the Cold" left off. Q gets very drunk, and Alec sees him safely home. Bond tags along out of curiosity. Big brotherly Alec, nosy Bond, tipsy Q. And cats. Bright Star 'verse.

Note: You really need to read my story "The Spy Who Came in From the Cold" or this won't make much sense.

Title: Play on the Bond film "License to Kill," which features Timothy Dalton as 007/James Bond. In my Bright Star 'verse, the 007 from the 1980s is named Damien Drake and is new Q's father. Q's real name is Danny Drake, but Bond doesn't know any of this, aside from Q's first name. Alec does.

License to Drink

2013

"And that's enough for you, kiddo." Alec chuckled fondly as he pulled Q's glass out of his shaky grasp. "You're still a lightweight."

Q whined and tried to hold on to his whiskey before it could make its way down Alec's throat. He failed miserably. "Am not. Also, not a kid," he said, raising a finger to make his point as he carefully enunciated the words. He hiccupped and blinked rapidly to keep the world in focus-ish.

"Are too, on both counts," Alec countered, and refilled the glass with water from the pitcher he'd ordered earlier, seeing how tipsy his young friend was getting in comparison to him and Bond, the more seasoned alcoholics at the table. "Here, have some of this instead."

Q's lower lip protruded, which, along with his flushed cheeks, made him look even younger than his twenty-three years. "No," he said adamantly, crossing his arms.

Alec shook his head and exchanged an amused look with Bond. "Drink the damned water, you stubborn brat. You'll have a headache in the morning as it is. You know you will. And then you'll blame me and try to delete my bank account again and end up scrambling the bank's database instead."

Bond's eyebrow climbed at that piece of information, as did the corner of his mouth.

"That was once!" Q protested, as though that made it any better.

"And once was enough. Just drink it. I don't want you getting hungover because you're an awful pain in the arse when you're suffering." Alec nudged the glass into Q's hand.

"Not." Q drank the water anyway.

Alec watched his friend clumsily trying not to dribble out of his suddenly unmanageable glass and stifled a laugh. "What do you do when I'm not around, huh?"

Q hiccupped and fumbled the glass onto the table with a hard clunk. "Don't get drunk around people I don't trust," he muttered. Then he closed his eyes and sagged against Alec with a happy sigh. "Missed you."

Alec's face softened and he put his arm around the smaller man. "Lightweight," he said again, and the affection that colored his voice was palpable. "Time to go home."

"Nuh," Q whined and snuggled - snuggled! - into Alec's side. Bond suppressed a snort at the hilarious picture of the usually straightlaced quartermaster melting into a clingy octopus.

Alec heaved a put-upon sigh. "Yes. Come on. Up." He stood and pulled Q - whose limbs had apparently turned into cooked noodles - up with him.

Since Alec had his arms full of drunken quartermaster, Bond paid the tab, despite Q's promise before they'd left HQ that he'd pay Alec's bill (but, adamantly, not Bond's) in exchange for stories of his adventures over the two years he'd been gone.

Q had moved out of his flat and into a proper house since his promotion the previous year, so Bond drove them - Alec didn't know where Q's new place was. He likewise had yet to be introduced to Q's new cat, Ada Lovelace, though he was already well-acquainted with the other, Alan Turing.

"Oh hello, m'lady, you must be Ada," he said to the white Persian that came out to greet them imperiously, like a queen receiving foreign dignitaries. "You are a beauty, aren't you, gorgeous? Where's Turing?"

Turing, a grey tom, appeared, right on cue. He held back, emphatically not liking the fuss in the hallway, but curious all the same.

"Hullo, mate. Remember me?"

"Course he does," Q snorted, swaying on his feet and nearly tripping over Ada, who wound herself around his ankles while emphatically yowling her pleasure that he was home, "You sneak him treats when you think I'm not paying attention. Had to put him on a diet after you left. Don't you dare make him fat again."

Alec snorted and herded Q upstairs to the bedroom.

Bond followed, curious as always about his strange new quartermaster.

He had dropped in to visit Q at home before, but he had kept to the living room, dining room, and kitchen because he did have some vestige of manners, after all. He hadn't gone poking about in the other rooms of the house just yet, and he took this opportunity to do so, since Q was unlikely to be coherent enough to scold him for it.

As Alec rolled Q into bed and put a bottle of water and aspirin on the bedside table with his phone and glasses, Bond prowled around the bedroom.

It was a bit messy, but not overly so, and looked lived-in and comfortable.

A glance in the closet and drawers showed that Q's horrid sense of color and pattern combinations had invaded nearly his entire wardrobe, from his pajamas to what was probably his 'interview suit,' though Bond did find a couple of very nice and expensive suits pushed to the very back of the closet, encased in garment bags and smelling pungently of mothballs.

And the jumpers. Wooly, fuzzy knitwear of all colors and designs filled his closet.

"Bloody hell," Bond muttered, making Alec snort.

"He likes to be comfortable, and it gets cold in Q-Branch, especially since he doesn't have any meat on his bones."

This, Bond knew, since server rooms needed to be kept cool to prevent overheating.

Then, because Alec knew Bond so well, he added, "So don't mess with his beloved jumpers. He'll make your life hell. The socks, too."

Bond raised an eyebrow at him and went to take a peek at Q's sock drawer. This elicited a more colorful curse.

"Where does he even get these atrocities?" he grumbled.

"Let him be. They're harmless and keep him from shivering like a little lost kitten."

But Bond had already moved on to the framed picture sitting on top of the chest of drawers.

The photograph showed a man reclining on a deck chair on what looked like a boat, arms crossed and a hat tipped over his face to keep the sun off of it. A fishing rod was set up next to him, completing the picture of a relaxing day spent fishing.

Bond could see the imprint of writing on the other side of the photograph, so he flipped the frame over and lifted the backing out of its recess.

There, he found the caption:

"Your old man 'fishing' with his eyes closed and snoring. Says it's a secret technique used by the ancients to attract fish. Only thing ancient here is him.

Wish you were here, Quartermaster.

ST

Jamaica, May 2010"

2010? Q had become quartermaster in 2012 upon the unexpected death of his predecessor. Odd. Why would he have something that called him Quartermaster before he was even appointed to the position?

And Q's 'old man' was probably still alive if this picture had been taken in 2010, as it was 2013 now. It was a pity that the man's face was covered by the hat; all Bond could make out was that he was dark-haired, or at least had been, judging by the arm- and chest-hair peeking out from under the partially-unbuttoned short-sleeved polo shirt. The man was slender, but had the well-muscled figure of an active man rather than the skeletal waif-like frame of his bookish son. There were faint scars criss-crossing the weathered exposed skin - this man had definitely seen some sort of action.

Alec, who was observing him with amusement, met his eye and shook his head at the silent question. He headed towards the door and stood there, his hand on the lightswitch, a wordless suggestion for Bond to step out of the bedroom.

Bond obliged.

"So, he's not one of M's orphans?" he asked quietly on their way down the staircase.

"Don't ask about his family," was all Alec said, "He'll tell you if he wants you to know, but he loves them, so don't ask."

"Tell me how it is that the two of you are so close then," Bond countered. "It's almost as though you're brothers. You don't get close to anyone like that, ever. You're not that close even to me, and considering what we've been through together, that's saying something." It wasn't jealousy that prompted it; it was just an observation.

Alec shook his head ruefully with a short laugh. "I dunno, really. A few years ago, I suddenly found myself with a little brother and no idea how it happened. He's just so bloody...him."

"Great description," Bond deadpanned. He understood, though. There was something about the quartermaster that drew double-ohs to him like moths to a flame.

Alec headed to the living room and poured out two glasses of vodka at Q's drink table in the corner. Bond had previously noticed that Alec's favorite brand was always kept stocked, but he hadn't connected the bottle to his friend, since he'd been gone for two years, and Bond had had no idea that Q had even known him before.

"You've noticed, haven't you?" Alec asked, handing Bond his glass. "Most dangerous man at MI6 and he looks like he's barely out of school," he said, an amused smile quirking up the corner of his lips as if recalling a particular incident, "He can make a double-oh stand down because he's just that confident of himself when he needs to be. He can back it up, too. And he's real. He genuinely cares about us. We're not just faceless weapons to him. We're people, and what's more, he likes us. A lot. He's been like that since I first met him, back before his name was just a letter."

That was the thing. People thought they liked dangerous men like Bond and Alec, but they didn't, really. They only liked the idea of them or what they could do. Most of the time, people only came close for the thrill they felt around them. It was rare for someone to actually like them for who they were, not what they could do. Q did that.

Q's grey cat, Turing, came to reacquaint himself with The-One-Who-Gives-Many-Treats and was promptly rewarded for his efforts. Ada, seeing this, was likewise presented with more treats than she had ever received from Q at once, thus becoming Alec's new best friend. Turing, feeling threatened, started a fight, which was quickly over, with only one cushion sacrificed to the cause.

(In case the reader is curious, Ada won, of course.)

Alec had just finished hiding the mangled cushion behind the couch when there was a loud THUMP! from upstairs.

"And that, James, would be the reason why I spend the night here on the rare instances when he gets drunk," Alec said drolly, rolling his eyes and getting up while Bond untensed. "Can't hold his liquor at all."

They found Q sprawled on the floor in a tangle of blankets and skinny limbs trying to disengage from his sheets and failing.

"Danny, you drunken idiot," Alec sighed through a stifled laugh, and unwrapped the attacking bed linens from his friend. "I swear, your IQ drops a hundred and fifty points when you get pissed."

Q stopped pouting as soon as he was rescued from his sheets. "That still leaves me with…" He frowned and blinked disappointedly. "Ooh, I can't maths. How utterly humiliating."

Alec snorted. "Sounds like you can't English either. Come on, up. Did you need anything? No? Then get your skinny arse back in bed." He wrangled Q back onto the bed and on his side. "And stay there this time."

"I'll have you know, Aleksandr, that I am fluent in...many languages," Q said, emphasizing each phoneme. He hiccupped.

"Good for you, Daneelko," Alec said, and bent down to pick up both cats and deposited them on the bed. "Keep watch and come get me if he needs help," he instructed them.

Bond raised an eyebrow.

Alec snorted. "Don't you think his cats would be scary smart, too? And they're not high on catnip, which is more than I can say for him."

Bond conceded that point with an incline of his head. His eyes were crinkled up at the corners, and his blue eyes sparkled with amusement.

Q - Danny, Bond corrected mentally - snuffled into his pillow and sighed. "Alec?" he slurred, "Glad you're home."

Bond watched his old friend's face take on an even gentler expression, a thing that should have been an impossibility this soon after his long mission when his mind ought to have been unable to so easily shake off his two-year cover identity as a cruel, ruthless, violent man.

Alec ruffled the mop of untidy curls. "Yeah, buddy. Me too."

He went to flick the lights off again and closed the door softly, padding downstairs to make himself comfortable on his young friend's couch for the night.

Bond, feeling that inexplicable surge of protectiveness that his deceptively vulnerable quartermaster always seemed to provoke, gave in to it for once and joined him, commandeering the soft reclining armchair while steadfastly ignoring Alec's knowing smirk.

It was curiosity; that was all. He wanted to see if Q would really try to delete Alec's bank account in the morning when he inevitably woke up with a terrible hangover.

Alec snorted softly, as though he'd heard Bond's internal musings.

"Don't try to deny it, James," he said, chuckling, "He's got you in his trap, too. Welcome to the club."

"What club?"

"You ever hear him scolding his cats?"

"Yeah," Bond said, and then realized what his friend was getting at and swore at him. "I'm not a damned cat."

"Sure you are," Alec yawned. "We all are, as far as he's concerned. Naughty cats who break his shit and turn up at all hours of the day or night just to annoy him because we want his attention. Big, dangerous jungle cats, maybe, but cats who act like humans every once in a while."

"That's a load of crap," Bond grumbled, huffing with his eyes closed.

"Just wait until the next time he scolds you," Alec warned. "You'll see I'm right."

"Bullshit."

"Meow."

A pillow flew.

. . . . .

The following morning, a very grumpy, very hungover quartermaster scolded the both of them for ruining his furniture and threatened to delete their bank accounts. The two parties to blame carefully averted their gazes and sulked quietly, exchanging guilty glances as they cleaned up the remains of the disemboweled pillows and cushions.

Q's two cats (the truly feline ones) paraded in after their irritable master, sitting down at his feet and sending smug looks at the agents as though demonstrating how good cats ought to behave. They were rewarded by Q with an extra treat with their breakfasts and a thorough petting each, though they and the two agents all knew that they didn't deserve the special treatment either.

"Meow?" muttered Bond, finally acknowledging the truth of Alec's words.

"Meow," answered Alec. 'Told you so.'

. . . . .

Notes:

"ST" is, of course, Stuart Thomas, who's an ex-005 and also one of Q's "uncles." He got a boat in my fic "Pirate" and he promised that four-year-old Q could be his quartermaster.

Turing the cat is the kitten from my fic "Crash and Burn" that Q made Alec rescue.