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, soulmate elements.
Suspire
Chapter Seven
"Q, no offense, but as remarkable as you are, I've seen weirder. Do get off your pedestal, will you?"
He hadn't been aware how much he'd needed the reprieve until Bond lightened things. Feeling like he could breathe for the first time in hours as 007 approached him confidently.
He gargled a laugh, shaking his head as the chair creaked under him. He could smell the act, of course. Able to discern the curious, flawed human behind the cultivated smirk. He could sense the questions. Even the undercurrent of fear. Especially that. But at the same time, he could see it wasn't all a mask. In spite of everything, Bond felt safe with him.
Lord above. The man really was a singular creature, wasn't he?
Here Bond was, approaching him as if they were in the labs rather than a musty apartment in rural Utah. Like he didn't have his wings free. Like he wasn't shivering under the strain of trying to keep himself together as his grace threatened to rip his vessel into a million pieces - desperate to fix the damage to his plumage.
If he allowed that, he might not be able to return in his human form.
Ever.
It was a surprisingly unpalatable thought.
Sentiment had never been his area, but it would seem he'd gotten attached somewhere along the way. It had been a long time since he'd been anything else, he supposed. Perhaps it was only natural to prefer the stability. He huffed, remembering how it had chaffed at first. How human skin had stuck awkwardly against his grace. Many of his brothers and sisters hadn't been able to stop theirs from bleeding through. Going through vessels in less than a decade before they learned to co-exist in them.
Thankfully his self-control had served him well.
Bond paused by the boarded-up window, peeking through with a trained eye.
"Utah?" the man uttered, somehow managing to sound impressed and completely disbelieving. "You got us from Sudan to Utah? I blinked and we were here. Now I know how you met all those deadlines."
His good wing wanted to stretch out to it's full span.
'Stop showing off,' he thought to himself ruthlessly.
This was not the time and certainly not the place.
They were in enough trouble already.
"It was as far as I could manage in my condition," he replied, tone dry. Resigned to the fact that Bond would wrestle the details free eventually. "Any further would have risked damaging the wing beyond my ability to repair. Besides, I detest Khartoum. The UK is out of the question until we find out how that lot is connected to the Ambassador. ...Demons that old are hardly a good sign. And, I'll have you know, this is the first time I've used my abilities in longer than you've been alive. It's far too risky and, as you've seen, there are draw backs. ...The world you know isn't safe. But the world you don't know, the one you saw today, is even more dangerous."
The amusement in Bond's expression was annoying and cheering in turns.
Utterly insufferable.
He sighed. He had no idea why he was so drawn to this one.
He tried to remember how normal humans breathed when Bond stopped in front of him. He was close enough to touch. But surprisingly, made no move to do so. Instead, he stared into serious blue eyes and saw a request for permission reflecting back.
He nodded, not trusting words. Mutual consent was heavy like that.
He didn't flinch when Bond's hands skimmed his flights.
It was worse than that.
He shivered, feathers twitching. Pleasure rushing to the forefront with such power he nearly slid off the chair. Unspooling at the first brush of another's hands on his wings in centuries.
He wondered if it was still a sin to take the Lord's name in vain if no one was listening.
He exhaled softly instead. Bond's scent wreathing around him in a pleasant fog. Senses hazy and thick. The downy feathers on his good wing ruffled, puffed up and comfortable. Knowing he was safe here. With Bond.
The thought was a lightening bolt of holy fire. Making him jerk, upsetting the hang of his injured wing. But the pain was immaterial considering his current predicament. Cautiously scenting the air as Bond paused. Looking down at him with such concern that-
Oh no.
"What is it? Did I hurt you?"
He shook his head.
"Hardly," he retorted, trying to hurry things along. "The joint, if you please."
Instead, Bond ducked under his wing and traced the bones. Understanding the curve. It would have been fine if he wasn't touch starved. Knowing he had Bond's attention as his feathers twitched with it. So god damned sensitive he hissed when Bond's thumb ran down the edge of his primary feathers.
It was just sensitivity. It had to be.
It couldn't be the bonding.
A human couldn't-
"Am I to assume that was all exactly what it looked like?" Bond remarked breezily.
He grimaced.
"Quite," he answered, lips pursed. Human skin pillaring with gooseflesh as humidity cut through the last of the adrenaline. Not immune to the standard response to stress and shock. Truthfully, he was used to this type of cold. Heaven had been warm, soaked in sun and gentle clouds. Falling to Earth all those years ago had been one culture-shock amongst many.
"That thing-" Bond paused.
"Was a demon, yes," he finished for him. Shoulder jumping when Bond's hand curled around the dislocated section. Trying to figure out the best way to snap it back into place. "Yes. There. Just lift it up and get it over with. ...And I'm not being metaphorical, 007. It brought Hell with it like a foul odor. He fell...with Lucifer. We were very lucky."
The words were sour.
He wished there was a way to wash his mouth out.
Just talking about it made him feel unclean.
"And you're an angel."
It wasn't a question.
"Yes," he answered tiredly.
There was no point denying it now.
Not that it mattered.
With a single touch he could wipe this conversation from Bond's memory.
No human really wanted to know, after all.
It was a burden.
He should know.
The crunching pain of the joint slipping back into place caught him completely off guard.
Bond's hand fell on his shoulder, squeezing hard. Letting him focus on the weight as his head lanced up. Grace lighting up the dusty corners of the room before he regained himself. Squeezing his eyes shut and breathing hard as he swallowed the pained cry that wanted to break free.
They stayed like that – long enough for the silence to become significant - before the pressure of Bond's hand lightened. But he didn't move away.
He didn't know what that meant.
"Hmmm," Bond breathed, so close to his ear the warmth tickled down his collarbone. "I thought it was all made up. Angels. God. The whole lot. Maybe that was what I told myself, being what I am. What I do."
His grace itched.
"There hasn't been anyone watching for a long time, if it helps," he returned. Head cocking as crooked knuckles grazed through the down of his injured wing. Straightening the flights.
It had been so long since he'd been touched this way.
"I don't know if it does. But it explains a lot," Bond replied, voice wry. Too jaded to be betrayed. Some humans would have been. But 007 just accepted it. Like he'd grown accustomed to being alone. To being abandoned.
He swallowed through a discomforting hitch. Somehow that seemed worse than disappointment.
"It wasn't always this way," he offered after a moment, like a band-aid to a gaping wound. Trying his best. "I was there. He was there. He loved us all so fully. Mankind was his last creation, and the one he was most proud of."
The laugh Bond let go of was bitter.
"I guess that's why he left. Nothing worse than being disappointed by your children."
His wings tensed, then flared. Delineating in anger as he whirled to face him.
"Parents forgive. Their love is unconditional. Just as his was," he bit back, not missing the way surprise quickly deadened to professional blankness on Bond's face. The entire thing made his wings stretch to their full width. Aching. Incensed. "Everything humanity is, he made that way. He created you with the ability for good and evil. It was up to you to choose. Even if you chose the later, at least he gave you the ability. That was the point. That has always been the point."
Bond didn't move.
"What happened?" he asked instead.
His wings slackened like a lowering shield. Grief a caustic, memorable taste.
"He died."
Bond's face was still carefully blank when he asked the only predictable question.
"God can die?"
He remembered the crushing weight of it when he'd learned the truth.
Most hadn't believed it.
But he had.
It made sense in a way only the very elements of creation can.
"All things die," he answered, sinking back into his chair. Wings relaxing at his sides, but not tucked in. It was an invitation he couldn't help, apparently. "Why would God be any different?"
Thankfully, Bond took the bait beautifully.
"Your feathers…" Bond started, something strange thickening his voice before he cleared it with a cough. Floorboards creaking at the closeness. "Some of the larger ones are crooked. Can you reach or do you want me to?"
He inclined his head, trying and failing not to seem too eager. Toes twitching in his loafers as Bond tidied the first layer, then preened deeper. Wings grazing his shoulders as he leaned in.
The moment Bond sunk his fingers into the soft of his inner feathers, his eyes rolled back in his head. Fooling no one at trying to appear unaffected as Bond's satisfied smirk teased the air. Such a good look on such a jaded soul.
"So, if God is dead, what are you doing here? Why?" Bond asked eventually. Calloused fingers combing through the fluff with extraordinary care. "I gather M-I6 isn't in the know. Is anyone?"
In his memory, the rush of the fall roared in his ears. Focusing on the mirrored streaks of his siblings falling around him like plummeting stars. Only the Earth loomed below. It had been a bittersweet welcome after eons of watching. He'd always thought about what it would be like. After all, he'd been there when the planet had taken it's first breath. Dreaming in sync with its sunrises and sunsets as his father's love glowed brightly.
He shook his head.
"There aren't many of us left. Most died in the wars. Of the heavenly variety," he clarified, not without some bitterness. "When Lucifer betrayed us, many left with him. Like the one you saw today. It started the first war between Heaven and Hell. At first it was fought like any other. With a warriors and weapons. Angels and Demons died by the billions."
Bond's gaze flicked to the golden lance leaning against the chair between his knees.
"And now?" Bond prompted.
"Now the war is fought in a different way. Like in the garden."
He didn't have to explain what garden.
Bond huffed a dry laugh.
"So that's all true? The Adam and Eve bit?"
He smiled thinly, remembering.
"More or less. But it was Adam who gave in to the serpent and took the apple, not Eve. She tried to convince him not to, but he was a bloody idiot. She only took a bite so he wouldn't be alone. She loved him. …Of course, that never made it into your bible. Didn't fit with sexism of the time, I suppose."
This time Bond's laugh was genuine, almost delighted.
"I can believe that."
He wondered at which part.
The silence was companionable before it started to go stale. Selfishly letting Bond continue despite knowing full well his feathers were tidy and glossed. Dangerously close to lulling him to sleep as 007 ran his fingers through the flights.
"When father died, most of us chose to fall. We came to Earth knowing it was a one-way trip. We can't go back. But it was decided that we would protect his last creation. God might have died, but Heaven and Hell are as alive as ever."
Bond hesitated, surprisingly on the nose.
"God died, but the Devil didn't."
He nodded.
"And there is nothing he wants more than to see humanity burn," he answered soberly. Wings quivering as the shadows of the room no longer seemed safe.
Mentioning Hell amongst the divine tended to have that effect.
Lucifer didn't like the sound of himself on the angelic tongue these days.
And naturally, the feeling was mutual.
After all, Hell was winning the war.
A/N: Thank you for reading, please let me know what you think. There will be more to come.