Disclaimer: I don't own "James Bond" or any of the 007 characters, wishful thinking aside.
Authors Note #1: I wanted to do a little OOQ wing fic and got carried away. Inspired by the following prompt: "Humans can not fix the problem because humans are the problem."
Warnings: angel!Q, mild language, canon appropriate violence, drama, angst, romance, pining, wing fic, religious themes and references, angels and demons, blood and injury.
Suspire
Chapter Six
He didn't understand.
But right now he didn't need too.
Right now he needed to-
The bloody down of pied-bald feathers filtered through the air like a painful rain as Q grappled with the man in the far corner. Fighting for the upper-hand as the dysphoric beat of his cronies slamming on the door echoed loudly. Staccato. Off-rhythm. Rattling the hinges. Threatening to make an even match less so.
His gun wavered, trying to get a clean shot.
He couldn't.
Q's wings were in the way and-
He bared his teeth in a tight, rictus grin when Q brought his lance down, sending the demon staggering away. Highlighting Q in all his bloody glory. Blue eyes glowing inhumanly bright as the weapon whistled through the air faster than he could see. It was a blur, impossible, like the thrum of a hummingbird's wing. Catching the bastard under the chin and sending him into the door, splintering it as-
The others piled through the debris, yelling - guns drawn.
But there was no where to find cover.
No where to run as he ducked and-
The air whooshed from his lungs when Q launched himself at him. Taking the impact as more than a half dozen guns fired at once. Feeling the reverb like a distant sort of PTSD as Q hissed through his teeth. Quivering. Protecting him. Shielding him like the bullets were nothing.
It had been a long time since anyone had treated him like he deserved protection. That he was worth someone's blood and pain. It was usually the other way around. He was either a product of his own success or a fallen soldier. It was assumed he could handle himself or he'd die in the service of Queen and Country. It was a reality he knew all to well. 007s were ticking time bombs at best. Liable to go off at a moment's notice. And, as it happened, they were generally treated as such.
As indispensable, but ultimately- disposable.
But not to Q.
Not today.
And hell if that didn't send a shot of warmth through him, in spite of everything.
A pained inhale broke him out of his thoughts.
"Bond... I can't-"
The words were a warning, a plead.
Like something they were afraid to acknowledge.
But he was already ahead of him. Twitching aside a sheath of feathers as he aimed and-
The room was quiet when it was over.
And he knew two things instantly.
First, his clip was empty.
And second, he couldn't see the thing Q had been fighting.
Q twitched his wings, raining spent bullets on the floor. Each one flattened like it'd hit a concrete wall and stopped there. Christ. There was no blood. No visible wounds. But somehow, he knew Q was hurt. Whatever had happened, Q had paid a price to keep him safe. It was all there, if you knew where to look.
He was close enough to feel the shift when Q turned, taking in the pile of bodies by the door. He watched in silence - choking unasked questions. And before long, Q's head tilted, eyes flashing as he scented the air. Almost cuffing him across the head when his wings lurched in alarm. And though he wasn't sure why, he found himself doing the same. Coughing when he realized the acrid smell was still there. Permeating the copper-coated humidity with an ungodly stink he could actually taste.
The dull vibration of a cell phone caught his attention. He stepped forward. Out of Q's protection. Mind already back in the mission. They'd be able to get intel from it, maybe ping the last few calls. They needed to know if the attack on the Ambassador's family was- But Q stopped him short, hand grazing his stomach. He caught on as he followed Q's gaze and spied a pool of inky-black pitch spreading from under the bodies.
What the bloody hell was that?
"Don't touch it," Q rasped, sounding winded. Forgetting to look smug when a moment later the noxious pool began to spit and bubble. Dissolving the closest body like it was some sort of acid. Eating through clothes and skin until there was only bone and wet organs before he looked away.
There were a million questions he could have asked, but he settled on the most immediate. Swallowing bile as the smell of burning flesh threatened to turn his stomach.
It had been a long time since he'd smelled that kind of death.
"Is it dead?"
Q shook his head.
"He'll be back, with others- more than I can fight. We need to leave."
He nodded. Mentally calculating the distance to the closest safe-house. He had an idea where they were in the city. Enough to get them in the right direction. They could make it before dark and have M in the know before tea-time. The only problem was he didn't know the parameters. He didn't know how it was possible for anything to get back up after he'd put a bullet through it's center mass. And not knowing the rules was the kind of shite that got you killed in his line of work.
Still, he didn't ask.
He just accepted it.
Trusting Q would tell him what he needed, when he needed to know it.
"Let's go," he agreed. Looking for a path through the spreading pitch as the fumes made the glare from the florescent lights waver. Covering his nose with his shirt as his vision started to go hazy around the edges.
It was only because they were so close that he was able to act in time. Aware of the slow let-go in Q's muscles as he turned and caught him before he crumpled. Wings an awkward mess as the left one rested on his back - tickling and warm.
That was when he realized the right wing was hanging at an awkward angle.
Broken. Bloody. Christ.
"Q? Q! Sweetheart- can you put them away? We have to get out here," he gritted, holding him up. Straining to pick up the lance, only to nearly drop it again when a strange, static-shock numbed the muscles in his arm. "If we can get to the street, I can get us to-"
He didn't know how to handle the damning pause when he realized the endearment had slipped free.
It had been honest.
Automatic.
And mercifully, Q didn't call him on it.
Q shook his head, hands fisting around his forearms. Gritting his teeth like every moment was agony. Turning those bright, eldritch eyes on him - so different from his usual dark grey - he didn't know whether to admire or miss them.
"There is no time. Let me..."
He didn't know what that meant, but he nodded anyway. Trusting. Eying the broken door as the shadows beyond started to warp again. Sensing something he didn't understand, but immediately feared as the hall echoed with a distant, unearthly roar. Like a hundred thousand voices were screaming through the ground, straining and pushing before-
He blinked and suddenly they were gone.
They reappeared in a dusty flat before he could exhale. Stomach lurching as he cased the room. Gun up, despite knowing it was empty.
Appearances were often everything in his line of work.
You just had to have the confidence to pull off the con.
He cleared the flat. Circling back to Q as the man leaned unsteadily against the wall. Breathing hard. He had a moment to look around at the sparse furnishings before Q spoke. Wings rustling as he used the lance to keep himself upright. Staggering beside him as his ears popped uncomfortably. Clicking like they were adjusting to a change in pressure as Q let go of a relieved sound.
What the bloody hell had just happened?!
"It's secure. He can't find us here," Q murmured, wilting against the wall. Making a show of putting some distance between them as the adrenaline that'd been coursing through him went stale. Eyes on the quivering mass of feathers as Q gingerly tested his range of motion. "None of them can. Not even MI-6 knows about this place."
There are more?
How is this connected to the Ambassador?
What was that- thing?
What are you?
Where are we?
How?
How was any of this possible?
He swallowed the round of questions grudgingly. Knowing it wasn't the right time. Eying the sole chair in the middle of the kitchen like it was some kind of lonely metaphor. Instead, he turned his attention to the sickly angle of Q's injured wing. He circled around him as Q fussed. Caught on the play of his shoulder blades as Q stretched his good wing, tucking it flat against his back. The speckled feathers stark against his corduroy trousers.
"Is it broken?" he asked carefully, gesturing towards it. Half surprised that speaking it aloud didn't make the entire scene dissolve. Like acknowledging an impossible thing was supposed to bring down the entire mirage. Only that didn't happen.
Which was its own problem, really.
He wasn't as unimaginative as head office liked to believe. He knew what he'd seen. Or at least he knew what it looked like. The words though, they got stuck in his throat.
The corners of Q's lips turned down, looking up at him through long lashes. Wetting his lips nervously as his hands spidered across the window ledge. Vulnerable in a way that sent a conflicting bolt of something all the way down to his belly.
"No...but I- I'm afraid I need your help," Q answered, gesturing behind him. "It's dislocated at the joint. Much like you would a shoulder, if you please. I can't reach it."
He nodded, relieved. But before he moved, he caught Q's expression and decided to negotiate. Not above a bit of dirty pool to get answers. Knowing full well how mulish Q could be on the best of days. And today, he was sure, wasn't one of the good.
"I think you need to tell me what's going on," he suggested firmly, tucking the empty Glock into his waistband.
"Yes, I think that's only fair," Q replied faintly, a thin coating of his usual sarcasm coloring his tone as he moved towards the chair and gracefully collapsed into it. "You've been remarkably calm, considering the circumstances."
The ungentlemanly snort that left him shocked them both.
He shook his head, smile flirting with the corners of his lips. Feeling full in the most enduring way possible as Q looked up. Demanding answers. Curious. Cautious. Hopeful.
"Q, no offense, but as remarkable as you are, I've seen weirder. Do get off your pedestal, will you?"
The smile the words brought forth was surprisingly everything. Lightening the mood as Q shook his head, doing his best to hide his amusement. Good wing puffing up as he chuckled openly.
He didn't let on it was a lie.
He didn't have to.
The fact that it had also been the right thing to say, well- he figured that was just luck. For once.
A/N: Thank you for reading, please let me know what you think. There will be more to come.