Bond had become restless over the past three days. Things between Alec and him had been great since their meeting with this therapist, Q or whatever, but that had been more than a week ago. Bond had no idea how Q had managed to calm Alec, even coax him into sleeping with a stranger sitting next to him. Also, what kind of tests required people to sleep or just talk, as Bond had done with Q?
M had called them in this morning, looking as grim as ever and not giving anything away. They were to meet with Q at the National Gallery just before closing time. And that was it. Bond tried to coax some information out of Moneypenny, but she shrugged apologetically shaking her head. Alec had been quiet since M had called. In a strange way, the past days had strengthened their soulbond. It had felt as if they had both reawakened from a bad dream, only to realise that the nightmare was just beginning.
The custodian was waiting for them, showing them into one of the empty halls, and politely asking them to take a seat opposite the large painting of an old battleship tugged to be broken up. Resignedly, Bond looked at Alec.
"Not very subtle, is he?" he said with a strained smirk.
Alec just sighed in response.
A few minutes later, Q showed up, talking quietly to the custodian, who nodded and then walked away. They were alone. Probably the only visitors left in the gallery. Q looked tense, his shoulders hunched, his face drawn as if he too had been stressed out by the past days. Then, Q drew a deep breath and straightened. By all means, he looked like he was going to his own death, Bond thought. There was a determination paired with desperation and fear. It reminded Bond of Alec. The look of panic, when he first realised what the zoning meant, and the determination to go on with their work despite the increasing risks.
Q greeted them with a firm handshake, then sat down between them. Bond looked at Alec, who smiled lopsided at him. This was it. They would be ripped apart later today, bonded to a guide or sent away to one of the institutions dealing with broken sentinels.
Q sat silently for a while, summoning the strength he would need for this step. He could feel Alec's anxiousness, ready to run, but not knowing from what or where to. James was nervous, but ready to fight, the handshake almost aggressive in its strength.
"Well, gentlemen, I gather you wonder why we meet up here," Q began hesitatingly.
"Showing us the way it'll all end," Bond responded, cocking an eyebrow at Q, and nodding toward the painting in front of them.
Q sighed.
"Yes, I know, not subtle. Then again, you're both too young to stop. M needs you, now more than ever."
Q looked at the ship.
"I've read your files. The unredacted version. You're," he stopped, searching for the right word and giving up on it. "You're too valuable to give up on."
Unlike me, he thought. Mother had made that perfectly clear when he had presented her with the few possibilities of keeping both James and Alec as field agents. Oh, she had responded with the appropriate amount of compassion, even asking the question, why Q would be willing to do this. Still, he knew it was mostly to ensure herself of his right motivations–for Queen and country, because England needs me–rather than his growing despair with having lost Scottie and not being able to move on. What did he have to lose, other than himself? He was terrified at the prospect.
"Nice to be appreciated, but how do we solve it?" James asked, emphasising the last word.
Q noticed the worried look that passed between the two agents. He better got on with things, then.
"First, I must apologise for the choice of venue. The final test will be conducted right here," he pointed at their seats. "And it's not about the Temeraire or being too old or, well, anything like that."
He paused, closing his eyes. He had to force himself on.
"You will have to look at another painting, and," Q swallowed. "It might not make a lot of sense right now, but, please, just trust me–"
James snorted at that. Q gave a long-suffering sigh. It was just like he had expected. He had hoped for Alec to react likewise, but the agent seemed too distressed to fight back in any way.
"It's not the Temeraire in front of us, but the Hunt behind us," with that, Q pulled up his legs and turned his body around, facing the wall opposite of the painting of the ship.
He liked the scene. The Hunt in the Forest. He felt the agents turning and took a deep breath. A split second later, Alec was zoning out, an instant later, James zoned as well. This was it, then. He hoped, he had the strength to pull both of them back. Else, well, else all three of them would be lost. Mother would kill him.
Q took Alec's hand in his right, and James' hand in his left.
The onslaught knocked the breath out of him. In Alec's mind the hunt was on. A cacophony of noise, men shouting, dogs barking and whining, hooves on the forest ground, splintering branches. But most surprising, Alec was the deer, fleeing in senseless fear through the woods, away, faster and faster into the depth of the forest, the dark, the unknown. Q needed to concentrate on Alec, even as he felt James slipping away, drawn into the void, the vanishing point of the painting. His mind was torn between the two men, swirling in useless circles, spinning, trying to get a grounding, something, anything to hold onto. Focus. Focus!
The book. The book written by the guides. It had said, the tree. The tree in the front. The second tree from the right. The branches cut off. It was standing free. Q turned his focus on that tree, immediately feeling a calm descending on his mind. The movements of the animals and men slowed down, almost to a stop. Q was regaining his footing, consciously splitting his attention between both men, keeping control of his own mind. Even so, it was draining him of energy. Fast.
With an effort, Q targeted Alec, calming him, and finally returning him to the bench they were sitting on, in the National Gallery, here and now. James still rushed forward, onward, gaining momentum as Q had been preoccupied with Alec; his race into the darkness of infinity was stopped abruptly, as Q gathered his strength for one last pull.
Then, as suddenly as it had started, Q was back in his body, trembling and sweaty. His hands hurting from grabbing and holding the hands of Alec and James. Alec leaned onto Q, as if searching for more contact, some reassurance that the episode was over. James was still trying to pull his hand away, out of Q's grasp, but Q wouldn't let him. Even so, he could feel his body shaking with fatigue.
"I'm sorry James," Q said quietly, exhausted. "I can't let go of you, not as long as you're facing that painting."
James frowned, but in the end, he relented.
"So, we're holding hands, because?"
Q huffed. They still hadn't figured it out, had they?
"That painting, The Hunt in the Forest, by Paolo di Dono," Q paused, needing a few deep breathes. "His nickname was Uccello. It means bird, in Italian. Like, you know, his animaspirit."
Q looked at Alec, then James. Their confusion vivid through their mutual connection.
"Uccello was a guide, yes," Q answered the unasked question. "And this painting, well, it's a weapon. Or, it can be used as a weapon."
Q almost let go, the bewilderment of the agents taking its toll on his mind. He couldn't let go now; he wouldn't have the strength to pull them back once more.
"Uccello was a master of the perspective. Painting as if the picture is a room, a space, stretching out into a vanishing point. The point, which the deer are running towards," Q explained.
"The deer is the guide, hunted by the sentinels, trying to catch it before it vanishes, hidden away in the forest," Q looked at James. "Guides give their lives for sentinels to function, for them to be able to achieve greatness, to unfold their abilities, their skills. Only few of us are allowed to stretch ourselves, to become what we could be, if we weren't bonded with a sentinel."
Q could hear the bitterness in his voice. He swallowed. This was what he was afraid of.
"The vanishing point, that's where guides become nothing in themselves. Where their very point of being is to be for and through their sentinel. They lose themselves, their identity. Uccello was lucky; his sentinel liked his talent for painting, for mathematics. And Uccello's sentinel was grounded, safe in their bond, leaving room for Uccello to become a great painter."
The fight had left James, understanding slowly spreading in his mind. Q could feel him wanting to fight, but not knowing who or what. Alec was barely aware of Q's words; he would need a further explanation. Later.
"An unbonded sentinel would lose themselves in this painting. As you almost did."
"You," James looked at him, incredulously. "You are a guide?!"
Q looked away.
"Yes," he said with a nod.
"This," he pointed to the painting. "I had to test myself. Try and pull both of you back from a zone. At the same time."
He could feel Alec twitching, his fingers fastening their hold of Q's hand. He understood what had happened, then, Q thought. James did as well, but he looked warily at Q.
"But you weren't sure, you would be able to do it?" James asked.
Q looked away. He shook his head.
"M, she," he worried his lip, "she was furious when I told her. But," he looked back at James, almost pleading, "it was the only way to make sure."
James nodded, a smile slowly spreading over his face.
"So, what you're saying, Q," James grinned, "you've risked the life of two agents to prove you're able to become a guide for both of us?"
"The three of us, actually," Q replied without looking up. "I risked the life of the three of us. If I hadn't been able to pull you back, both of you, I would–."
He stopped and shrugged. He would have lost his mind, first, and his life a few days later. The little handwritten book had contained several warnings concerning this very painting. For both guides and sentinels Luring unwanted sentinels into looking at it, in great detail describing the painful ways they would die shortly afterwards. Its original name was Vanishing Point, as it was known to guides. Q had thought he had understood what it meant. He hadn't. Yes, he had been able to pull both Alec and James back, but it had been a close call. He felt like he had run a marathon and being run over by a truck.
He felt James' puzzlement, as he squeezed his hand.
"Yes, I'm a guide, and pulling you both out of a zoning was risky. And no," he added, "I wasn't sure I could."
The painting The Hunt in the Forest by Paolo di Dono actually exists, though it is not shown in the National Gallery, but in the Ashmolean Museum at Oxford.