With a slight start, Q woke up. He kept his reactions in check, willing his breathing to even out, relaxing his muscles. Master wanted his pet silent and still, not twitching and flinching. Master would punish him if he panicked. Q's mind was reeling. He had no idea, where he was. There were too many impressions, too many sensations flooding his perception from his surroundings. Harsh lights from above. An excruciating noise. The cold air on his bare hands, hands which were clenched into fists, the skin turning white, even as he tried to stay calm, to sit motionless. He wanted to be good. To be a good pet. Training his eyes to the ground, realising the roaring in his ears were the sounds of large engines. A cargo plane. Flying. They were flying. He wanted to scream, to run, to move, to–
The mission.
Q swallowed. Repeating the words over and over and over in his mind.
The mission.
The mission.
The mission.
Of course, they would be on a plane. Of course. The mission. They had prepared for it. Master would want him. Later. Not now. Now, he would be a good pet. Keeping still. Silent. Not moving. Unseen by Master, but not hiding from him. Never hide. Master would punish him. Master would–
Q stopped breathing.
Master was dead.
He had shot him. Shot. Him. Dead.
Master was gone.
Q gasped for air. He bent over in his seat. He tried to stifle a scream by biting in his arm. The bite would leave marks, despite of the jacket he was wearing. The fabric too thin to give any kind of protection from his teeth tearing thorugh it.
"Q?"
The voice sounded familiar. Friendly. Concerned, even. And Q remembered. The man. The man with blue eyes. The man sent by MI6.
"Q?"
A hand on his shoulder. Just a light, tender touch. Q felt tears in his eyes. Emotions, he had thought long gone, were flooding his mind and body. He wanted them to stop, wanted it to stop. He was losing control, had lost control already. The sounds, the smells, the light. Everything. Too much.
The man, Bond, James Bond, Q knew his name. Bond leaned closer, slowly. Q sat still, wanted to bolt, wanted to stay, to be engulfed by the promising warmth of the hand, the arm, the body. He couldn't move. Couldn't speak, his mouth still filled with the cheap fabric of his jacket, his teeth still trying to tear it apart, to leave marks on his arm, to break his skin.
He closed his eyes. He opened his mouth, to stop the biting. His arm hurt. It would bruise, and he could feel it. He concentrated on the pain, needed it to control himself. Finally, he just gave in. He let the tears flow freely, now, as his head lolled back against his seat, back against the strong arm of Bond. Then, Q's body curled in on itself, into the offered embrace.
"We'll land in a few minutes, in Fitton. England. An inconspicuous airport outside of London. It's passed midnight in London, but one of my friends, Eve Moneypenny, she'll be there and take us to another friend of mine, Charlie, Charles Robinson."
Bond's voice was quiet, peaceful, drawing him in. Q centred on the voice, the sound, the words. Blocking everything else out. Even as his body became sluggish and limp, his mind cleared, became focussed, sharp. Years of brutal training had taught him to stay alert, to take in every word, every command, every single piece of information, even while his body was abused and beaten. Information was knowledge. Knowledge which could help him anticipate his master's next move. Knowledge, which one day might set him free.
And so, he listened and learned. About Bond's lover, Charlie, about the place, where Charlie lived, Redwood Tower. About the people, the flat, even the stairs, the many, many steps up to Charlie's flat. About Petey, the cat of Redwood Tower. An old cat, grim and fierce, he heard, as Bond explained about his first encounter with Petey. About bloodshed and redemption, when Bond brought a can of tuna for Petey on another visit to Charlie's. About Charlie's neighbours and friends, his family. Charlie had family. Eve Moneypenny, she was his cousin. And Auntie Jinx, well, it wasn't her real name, but everybody called her Auntie Jinx. She lived in the Tower as well. And the Tower became a fortress in Q's mind, a place filled with friendly, kind people, looking out for each other. And Petey, the black cat, living in the Tower, not being anyone's cat, but free to roam as he liked.
Bond continued his tale. In Q's mind, it became a fairy tale. Something, so removed from his own life and experience, a dream rather, than any kind of reality. But maybe a dream, which could become true. With people who cared.
With softly spoken words, Bond held him close, generously sharing his body heat, keeping Q wrapped up in his arms. Safe.
When the plane finally landed, Q felt as if he was waking up a second time. This time from a pleasant dream, not anything like the nightmares, his sleep used to be riddled with. Bond helped him stand and guided him to the open cargo flat. He stepped outside into the cool air of the night. The black tarmac below was dimly lit by scattered lights. Q made out the dark shadow of a woman, standing beside a car. He took a deep breath, relishing the feeling of cool air filling his lungs. Behind him, Bond was waiting patiently. Once more clenching his hands in fists, not in panic this time, but in determination, Q began to walk towards the woman.
Bond followed Q, carrying the sole bag which had survived his trip. Moneypenny's raised eyebrow wasn't lost on Bond. He was still uncertain if he was doing the right thing. But, as Charlie had pointed out, there were too many uncertainties as to what was happening at Six right now. With just a small nod, Moneypenny greeted them, opening the car door for Q, who hesitated till Bond gently guided him into the back seat.
With a small nod to the side, Moneypenny took a few steps away from the car, waiting for Bond to join her.
"What did you do to him? He looks like shite," she asked with barely concealed anger.
"I'm sorry, but none of my doing, I promise," Bond lifted his hands in mock surrender.
Looking back at the car, Q's profile barely visible in the darkness, he shook his head.
"I don't really know what I'm doing right now. He had a breakdown on the plane."
Bond grit his teeth. Q's panic had been palpable, despite his best efforts to control it. It had surprised him, how easily he could talk Q down, how much he trusted him to just let go and let Bond hold him.
"He gave us the intel to take down Silva and Patrice. And someone at Six wants to see him dead. At least my orders were to take down the whole group."
Moneypenny frowned, but nodded. Robinson had apparently briefed her, already.
"Did you ask Mallory about the informant?"
"I had no idea there even was an informant in the group itself. Charlie told me, afterwards. Mallory didn't mention how we got the intel."
Moneypenny huffed.
"Charlie has made sure his arrival is kept under the radar. As it is, he doesn't exist."
Moneypenny looked back at the car.
"In fact, Charlie couldn't find any trace of him anywhere. No lost children, abductions, anything, which could fit your description and Q's age."
"Abroad?" Bond asked.
Moneypenny just shook her head.
"No name, no nothing," Moneypenny said with a sigh.
"Well, Charlie calls him Freddy Lyon, so there's that," Bond smirked, lightening the mood.
Moneypenny grinned.
"Yes, Charlie just loves that show," she turned to walk back to the dark car. "Might want to change that into Freddy Q Lyon or something. Would probably be easier for Q to handle."
Bond nodded. He remembered the desperation in Q's voice back in the jungle: "Q. That is my name. I will make it my name."
He looked at the car and thought back. Just a few hours ago, but for Q it must feel like a whole lifetime. He wondered if the three of them would be able to help Q remember, to find his true identity. With a deep sigh, he wondered yet again, if was doing the right thing. If he could trust Q as much as Q already seemed to trust him.
The drive back to London was uneventful. The silence in the car was broken by the radio, music interspersed with a few comments by the radio host. Neither Bond nor Moneypenny wanted to make small talk. Thinking about the recent events, including Q's breakdown in the plane, Bond wondered how he had managed to survive for so many years. A trained sniper and computer expert, Q would have been an asset to any criminal organisation. Could they rely on him? Q had managed to escape from the very people, who had managed to turn him into a killing machine, a sex-slave beaten into submission, kept him as their 'pet'. Bond might still have some trust issues, but he admired Q's resilience and strength. A strength, Q would need to become who he was meant to be. In the quiet of the car, Bond vowed to help him as best he could.