Cautiously, Bond exited the lift. He registered the window at the end of the corridor, the fire escape, then turned back towards the lift as its doors closed. Ten floors, this was the fifth, and the lift was going down. He took a deep breath. The hall smelled clean. New. Two cameras had turned towards him when he had entered the hallway. He opened the door to Sidney's office, wondering about the non-descript sign. No title, nothing to indicate this Sidney guy actually was a therapist. Or a guy, for that matter. Alec hadn't talked about the session, and Bond hadn't asked.
No receptionist. Bond was intrigued. The place looked deserted. No files, books or laptop, for that matter. Another door opened and a young man looked out.
"A mom-," he began, but stopped. "Oh."
They looked at each other in stunned silence. Bond cocked an eyebrow. So, this Sidney had an assistant, he thought.
"No," the young man said firmly, then flustered. "I mean, no," he cleared his throat and visibly straightened himself, "I'm Sidney. Ethan Sidney."
Bond smirked. Confused young man, he thought as he walked past him into the next room. Two armchairs, a sofa, a small coffee table with mugs, a coffee and a tea pot, a large window overlooking the Thames and a larger part of London. He could smell the freshly brewed coffee.
"Please, sit down, Mister Bond," the young man said.
Bond grinned as he sat down in one of the armchairs.
"James, please," he replied. "Usually, only villains about to kill me would call me 'Mister Bond'."
The young man smiled at that.
"Just call me Q, then, James," Q said. "No need for killings and villains as of yet."
"You expect company? Of the evil kind, Q?" Bond asked, wondering briefly about the strange nickname.
Q passed Bond a mug, the coffee smelling delicious.
"Isn't it what you do, finding the baddies and killing them, before they kill you and take over the world?" Q had sat down with his mug, watching Bond intently.
Bond felt himself relax. He actually enjoyed the company, so far.
"Baddies?" he asked with a grin.
He took a cautious sip, tasting the hot coffee, drawing in a deep breath to appreciate the different notes in its scent.
"Well," Q gave a slight smile. "If I understand the work of MI6 correctly, we are the good guys, and anyone plotting against us are the evil ones. And" Q paused and turned to the side, looking at the coffee table, instead at Bond directly. "You and Alec, you have a–what do you call it–a license to kill?"
Bond nodded and surprised himself with the lack of apprehension he would normally feel at such a question. Q continued the conversation, keeping a light tone, despite his questions becoming more and more personal. Astonished, Bond realised that he actually enjoyed explaining about his work, the missions, his life with Alec. Q was a good listener, which made sense, being a therapist. Still, Bond wondered how easy their conversation was flowing, despite the grave topics, Q breached. He had an almost uncanny ability to turn onto subjects, which Bond would have avoided to talk about at any costs with anybody else. And yet, here he was, revealing his resentments for certain people–mostly politicians, careless minions at Six, power-hungry villains–, his ups and downs with Alec, even his feelings about the possible breaking of their soulbond. Not once did he shy away from answering, explicating, yes, pouring his heart out.
At one point, Q excused himself to make fresh coffee and tea, leaving Bond to his own devices. It was then, Bond noticed how calm he felt, how soothing the presence of Q was. Just him being in the same room with Bond. It was restful, peaceful even, in a very strange way. Therapists, counsellors, psychiatrists, whatever these prodding and prying people were called, Q was nothing like them. Or rather, Bond contemplated, Q did exactly what these people had tried to do with him, but contrary to them, Q was actually listening. No, that wasn't it. Bond frowned. Q would show his own vulnerabilities. As they talked, it was a give and take. Q had answered Bond's questions as well. He had talked about his marriage, being a widower, living alone in a large house, which constantly reminded him of his past love. About Q's difficulties at university, being gay and married to a much older man.
It had all felt natural, like two old friends meeting up for tea. Well, Bond preferred coffee, which Q apparently had known. Bond pondered what else Six had on him in his files, and why Q obviously had been given access to this kind of information. And again, he wondered why he had no concerns talking to Q.
After a while, Q returned with fresh beverages and a few sandwiches. They continued their talk, about how Bond and Alec had met, fallen head over heels for each other. Fighting against expectations, being sentinels and as such, destined to become commanders, generals, even. However, Alec's family background, his parents being Lienz Cossacks, who were forced to flee the Soviet Union, meant this career path was closed and locked for him. Bond being his mate, this impacted his possibilities as well. Again, and again, Bond's superiors tried to convince him to break his soulbond. In the end, Alec and Bond decided to work for Six, the Secret Service seemingly more willing to give them a chance.
Q was silent for a while, then, lost in thought.
"When did the zoning begin?" he asked quietly.
Bond drew a deep sigh. The dreaded question. They both had episodes, few, scattered through the years, never anything to be worried about. Mostly, they happened during sexual encounters, not with each other, but with some of their targets. They had been lucky enough to snap out of it in time, their bed partners always believing them to have passed out because of the glorious sex–when, sadly to say, quite the opposite had been true. It had never happened in the middle of a fight, never for such a prolonged time. Alec's zoning episode had been the first where it had put the mission and both of them at risk.
Talking about it, putting words on his experience, made Bond realise how strained his bond with Alec was, had been, for a long while now. He fell silent, considering the past weeks, months. He compared them to their first meeting, the years that had passed. How it had changed them, changed him.
He put down the mug and looked at Q, almost horrified by his sudden realisation. But it was Q, who put words on his emotions.
"He is draining you," Q explained silently, his pleasant voice stating a fact, horrendous as it was. "Feeding on your vitality."
Bond just nodded.
"It's not his intention. Never would be. And he can't help himself. Not in his current state of mind."
Q looked down at his mug, avoiding Bond's eyes. When he finally looked up again, he seemed to have made up his mind. On what, Bond could only guess. This was supposed to be a test, even if Bond had no idea, how he was tested. Much less, whether he and Alec had passed or not.
"I'll have to," Q began, then shook his head. "I'll need to investigate a few things. It may, well, a few days at least. Yes," Q seemed to be talking to himself. His eyes were far away. "Yes, it will take a few days. Then, well," he frowned. "That might work. For a start."
He blinked a few times, as if drawing himself back into the here and now. Then he turned to Bond, a small smile on his face.
"I've to make a few inquiries and report back to M."
At Bond's frown, Q shrugged apologetic.
"She'll have to accept my proposal, before we can continue."
"Proposal? So, you," Bond searched for words.
"I might have a solution, yes," Q finished Bond's sentence.
"However, there are a lot of maybe's and if's and, well, I'm not sure what I'll find."
Q looked at Bond.
"I would caution you on getting your hopes up. It's just a vague idea as of now, and it may turn out to be useless," Q bid his lower lip. "I'm sorry."
Bond shrugged. At least there was hope, which was better than anything M had offered so far. With that, they both got up from their chairs, and Q bid Bond goodbye, waiting at the office door until the lift closed in front of him.