The meeting place was neutral ground. At least as neutral as it could be in a city that Finch knew a lot better than Q did and which he had a direct surveillance line to. Q had no idea if the man he was about to meet was a technopath, some other kind of technologically inclined preternatural, or simply damned good and genius-level like Q.

The lounge and bar was frequented by all kinds of people, but mostly business men and women on their lunch break. Q looked around the room and when he met the eyes of a bespectacled, older man he knew he had found Harold Finch.

Dressed in a suit and tie he looked like a bookkeeper or librarian. His movements were a little stiff and Q noticed that he didn't turn his head, more like most of his upper body. Age-wise Finch was hard to place. Fifties? Younger? He had no idea.

"Mr. Finch," he greeted him.

Finch's eyes were sharp behind those old-fashioned glasses and Q knew he was probably as surprised as the quartermaster to meet his 'opponent' in person. Q had dressed in a rather smart outfit, looking the part of the vintage hipster. With his laptop bag slung across his chest and the tie under a red-blue-mustard colored sweater, the glasses, the messily arranged hair, he didn't really stand out among the crowd of this room.

"Mr….?"

"Whittmore will be fine. It's as real as your name, I believe." He raised a corner of his mouth in a smile.

Finch smiled in reply. "I believe it is."

A waitress came over and Q ordered tea and a glass of water. She came back not much later and placed his order in front of him. The smile she gave Q was just this side of flirty.

There was something knowing in Finch's eyes, something telling Q the man knew a lot more than he let on.

Well, two could play that game.

"I have to admit I'm impressed," the quartermaster said casually. "I first believed you to be just a hacker with a knack. I was proven differently."

Finch regarded him with an unreadable expression.

"You are in the middle of a very complicated web, Mr. Finch. MI6 doesn't care what you do here. We only came to find the killer of our agents. What we found was an asset in that hunt. And more." He tilted his head. "You're not just a hacker, am I right? You are a programmer. This is your code, your unique handwriting, and it belongs to something a lot bigger."

Finch still looked at him without a word or even a twitch, though there was something in his eyes.

"You created a machine. It calls you The Admin."

There was a flicker of surprise, the lips parting ever so slightly in astonishment.

Q smiled a little. Gotcha!

"I'm sure you did your homework the moment Bond and I appeared on your playground."

Finch nodded. "A Double-Oh. An agent with the license to kill. Slightly outdated nowadays, but apparently quite effective."

"And you tried to hack my own file."

That got him a brief smile from the older man. "Impressive coding… Q."

Q smirked. Of course Finch had known who he was.

"The quartermaster of MI6. I didn't expect someone like you to be part of a murder investigation into two agents," Finch continued. "It's… unusual."

"Not when the case involves supernaturals."

"Your agents weren't werewolves or any other supernatural kind I'm aware of."

"They weren't, but the angle caught our interest. My file tells you a lot of things, like my position with MI6, that I handle Bond, that I'm a genius-level hacker, that I invented my own coding at a very young age, that I've been with MI6 for a while, despite my age." Q met the sharp eyes evenly. "It doesn't tell you what else I am. That I can look at your machine and see past the code, past the limits of human hacking. What I did, linking our comm. devices, wasn't done by hand."

Finch's eyes widened.

"I can see your machine, Mr. Finch. I can look at the very core and see it as a physical representation in my mind."

"Technopath?" he asked, sounding almost breathless… and envious.

Q smiled. "Yes."

There was a moment of silence, Finch clearly working through the revelation.

"Bond is your anchor?"

Sharp. Very sharp. The man knew what he was talking about.

"Yes."

He could almost see the wheels turning in that agile brain.

"You were inside the program?"

"No. I looked at it. Look, no touch. It's… fascinating and very dangerous. Especially for someone like me."

The machine was like a layer cake, beautiful, delicious, incredible, coding Q had never seen before running at its very core. But he understood it. Technopathy gave him that ability and he learned lightning fast.

"But I guess you know that, Mr. Finch. To be able to write such a program, make it work like you did, communicate with it like you do, you have an ability."

Finch looked at him, drawn between surprise, shock and denial. He was clearly fighting against letting Q know something only he had ever known.

"You're not a technopath," Q prodded.

"How would you know?"

"Call it a hunch. There are so few of us and we are so very susceptible to losing ourselves in this technological world, you wouldn't be functioning the way you are."

"I might have had an anchor."

Q tilted his head. "Maybe. But if you had an anchor, he or she would be here. Reese isn't it, because you two haven't known each other long enough for him to be there when you wrote the code. You wouldn't have been able to create all of this in your head and not go insane. Or end up as a bunch of pixilated data in the net while they turned off the machines that kept your body functioning. And there is no one else. An anchor means absolute trust, Mr. Finch. He has to know what he is to you. No secrets, no lies, no obfuscation of the truth. You can't switch out anchors either."

The sharp eyes were still on him and Q remained as calm as he did when facing the primal part of James.

"I might have a… preternatural predisposition," Finch finally said. "I'm not technopathic. And no, I never used anyone as an anchor. I can't log myself into a machine or access a network by mind."

"You simply have a talent to hack?"

"I have a talent to code, Q. An innate understanding of this code, of this one language that gave life to a program that is now only called The Machine."

"You're a cipher," Q said, intrigued. "Very limited to creating code, one that only you will ever understand."

Finch studied him. "Maybe I am."

It would explain some things. Though Finch had probably never worked on his abilities, using them only to program this one machine, his unique creation, his personal project."

"But this machine is not with you, here in New York," he stated.

"How can you tell?"

"It felt like looking down a very long hallway into a building that wasn't here. A very bad analogy, I think, but the only one that I can come up with." Q sipped at his tea. "I'm not perfect in what I can do with my abilities, Mr. Finch. They also have severe drawbacks."

"You are anchored."

"It's not the solution to every headache."

Finch gave him a tiny smile. "I don't know where it is," he said truthfully. "I only have a backdoor into it."

"What is its purpose?"

Silence greeted his question. Q waited. He knew he could continue his own hacking or he could show his own trust by letting the Admin explain what they were doing.

"I created The Machine to warn us against acts of terror," Finch finally said, voice soft. "After 9-11 I wanted an early warning system against terrorism."

Q's eyebrows rose.

"The Machine utilizes feeds from domestic organizations such as the NSA, and foreign entities including Interpol. It reviews all video footage, phone calls, electronic transactions and e-mails secretly, without anyone knowing about its existence. It's finding patterns in activities that no human would ordinarily look for."

"And it gives you their names?"

"It gives me the social security number. Nothing else."

"Where does it look?" the quartermaster asked, stunned.

"Everywhere."

His eyes widened. Finch only smiled humorlessly. "The Machine sorts persons of interest into relevant and irrelevant cases. Every night at midnight, the irrelevant list is erased. I realized that the irrelevant list contained people about to be involved in violent crimes, which is why I left myself a backdoor to the Machine in order to access the irrelevant list."

"Who controls it?"

"I don't know."

"You don't know?"

Finch shrugged. "I sold it to the US government for a dollar."

Q knew he was gaping and he pulled himself together.

"The backdoor is my only way in, but it doesn't tell me where they took my creation."

Q's mind was whirling and he wanted to ask so many questions, but right now they had a different mission to run, a serial killer to catch. He saw Finch's smile and sighed.

"Well. Is there a way you could use your machine to find who is behind the killings?"

"No. It doesn't work that way. I can't find one single person. It's watching everyone."

"Vexing."

Finch chuckled. "Indeed."

x X XX xx X XX xx XX xx X XX xx XX xx X XX xx XX xx X XX xx XX xx X XX xx XX xx X XX xx XX xx X XX xx XX xx X XX xx XX xx X XX xxx x

Putting two agents the caliber of James Bond and John Reese into the same room together was the recipe for a catastrophe in the making. Or the beginning of something else; a temporary partnership that might not be based on complete trust, simply an understanding of the other man.

Two alpha males. Two very dangerous men who had killed for their countries. Two men who would protect their partners with their lives.

And one of them could definitely come back from the dead.

Wintery blue eyes regarded John Reese, every move he made, every single twitch catalogued and analyzed. The phoenix was a primal creature and it felt twitchy and unwell around whatever John Reese was. While it wasn't a separate entity from Bond, it was something detached from his civilized, logical self. It was an instinct, a void inside him, that reacted to danger and claimed what it wanted and clearly hungered for what it needed.

John Reese was very dangerous.

It took a preternatural to recognize another. Bond was pretty sure that Reese was a supernatural and from the looks he received from the ex-CIA agent, the man knew Bond wasn't human either.

Not a werewolf, though. Definitely not a wolf. Bond had run into a few and they gave off different vibes. Humans didn't pick up on them, but the phoenix did and something in Bond reacted to that vibe. Werewolves felt slightly off; not in a bad way, just in a very tell-tale one.

Both men were silently contemplating the depth of their coffee mugs. While Finch and Q were talking, their partners had set up guard a few tables over, barely glancing at the two men as they exchanged pleasantries and finally got down to business.

Q had confirmed that Reese had an earpiece and a mic to communicate with Finch, and he had it on him even now. He had also confirmed that Finch had a cell phone that was currently cloned to Reese's, enabling him to listen. So whatever the two handlers were talking about, their respective agents would hear.

Bond was tense, but not even close to lethally feral because of the whole set-up. While he recognized Reese as a fellow predator, the ex-CIA didn't exude it like others of his kind. He was laid back, calm, very even-keeled, and while that would have thrown Bond a year ago, he now only saw the signs of a balanced primal beast that had found purpose and meaning.

Like himself.

And still not him. Nothing could compare to the nightmare that was the phoenix, the ruthless darkness, the hungry void that lusted for blood and death. Even a werewolf in a killing frenzy was a puppy dog compared to what could be unleashed from that void, should it ever be freed from its human bonds.

"How long have you known?" Reese finally asked.

Bond raised an eyebrow at the softly voiced question. Reese rarely ever raised his voice, his tone calm, sometimes with a menacing touch, but never loud.

It was interesting, it was unique, and it spoke of a control beyond human possibilities. Something lurked underneath that smooth exterior, though it wasn't a creature ready to kill. It was curious, yes. It was protective and intense, of course. But it wasn't a horror.

Bond gave the other man a level look.

"Don't play this game, Bond," Reese rumbled. "I know you aren't a werewolf, but you are not human."

He smiled coolly. "How can you tell?"

"Let's say it's a knack."

"But you can't tell what you are facing."

Blue eyes, a shade darker than Bond's, deep-set and less cold, flashed with amusement. "I'm not a detector for the supernatural. Or preternatural. As for you," he tilted his head a little, "you rub me the wrong way, Mr. Bond."

Bond grinned. It wasn't a nice, handsome grin; more like terrifying. He let some of the monster come forward, take a peek, look at Reese and lick its lips.

Reese didn't even twitch. He simply raised his eyebrows.

"Quid pro quo," Bond finally said.

It got him a nod. "That sounds fair."

"I found out just what I had been born with after I started this career," Bond stated. After five seconds of silence he added, "After I died the first time."

Dark brows rose.

"Phoenix," Bond remarked, the void rumbling through him.

Reese gazed into the inhuman eyes, not flinching away from the thing that was looking at him, and chuckled a little. "Interesting. Hellhound."

Bond blinked.

::A preternatural; not as rare as a phoenix:: Q remarked through the earpiece. He had apparently been listening in while talking to Finch. ::But quite hard to find anyway. Just as tenacious, too. Hellhounds are good hunters and killers, but they are primarily protectors. And loyal. If you have their loyalty, you have someone who will die for you. Very intelligent, very resourceful, and very sharp. They heal fast, they are resilient, but they don't resurrect like a phoenix is able to. But like a phoenix they are rather… untamed::

Q sounded amused.

::They can be grounded, though for that they need a purpose. For example, werewolves are grounded by a pack, even without a purpose. It's a drawback when you're a hellhound. They can shapeshift to a degree, but not completely. It's mostly the eyes or claws, in addition to the very heightened senses. Hellhounds have an intense need to protect coupled with a fierce nature. They can easily be made into perfect killers::

His quartermaster was just a fountain of information.

::It explains how he was accepted in a wolf pack, though. They wouldn't have let just any other supernatural or preternatural join. One might even have been grounding him. Probably the handler, Stanton. Hounds are like distant cousins and she would have been able to relate to him. That might also be the only reason why Mr. Reese is still alive::

Bond raised his eyebrows. "So you being a hellhound might be why you are still alive," he translated what Q had said. "You're not true pack. You're an outsider."

Reese looked thoughtful. "Possible. But it still doesn't tell us who."

::But it gives us a way to the killer, Mr. Reese:. Q spoke up and the way he addressed the other man, Bond knew he was back in the system and not just talking to James. ::We can use it to lure the killer out by leaving bait everywhere that you understand what has happened, that you feel the same, that you want the same::

Reese's smile was almost feral now. His canines looked a bit sharper and the eyes were more inhuman. It seemed like there was a circle of silver around his irises, weird and possibly a trick of the light, but Bond knew it wasn't.

This was the hellhound.

Bond reflected the smile, just with less pointy teeth and no eyes that changed color.

Q was suddenly there, next to the table, his vintage hipster style making him look young and geeky and delicious.

Well, the latter was only for Bond. He shot his quartermaster a grin. Q only gave him an exasperated expression in return.

Finch was no longer at the table, but Bond had seen the man limp out, his mind already cataloguing possible, old injuries. He knew Reese had tracked his partner's departure, the protector fully there and ready to kill if someone threatened him.

"Finch will set up the trap, I'll start dropping treats for the perp to follow."

"And where will you lead him?"

Q smiled. "Your partner has found a very nice place for us to keep a lid on things, should the situation get… violent."

Reese's smile was terrifying all on its own. "Oh, I'm sure it will."

Then he slid out of the booth and lithely walked toward the exit, immediately tracking Finch. Bond watched him, impressed and still curious about the other man.

"Finch is the reason he's functioning," Q said softly.

Bond raised an eyebrow.

Q mimicked it.

"Ready?"

"Where to, grand master?" the Double-Oh teased.

Q's exasperation was back, but there was a smile in his eyes. "The hotel. I'll need somewhere quiet to place the treats for the killer to find."

"Then let's go."

x X XX xx X XX xxx x

Q was hyper-aware of the cameras everywhere and Bond picked up on it.

"He can see us?"

"Anyone who hacks into the system can. Mr. Finch simply has a very direct line into the whole of the system. Intriguing, actually." He smiled a little as they stood at a corner, waiting for the light to turn green. "But we're invisible."

Bond raised an eyebrow.

"Never underestimate me, Mr. Bond."

It got him an affectionate smile. "I never would, Mr. Whittmore."

Q chuckled.

The light turned and they crossed the street, walking with the mass of people.

"You called him a cipher."

"Yes. A very watered-down version of a technopath. There are a lot of variations around the globe. I believe he is capable of a lot more than what he has already done."

"Creating this mysterious machine?"

"I'm not even sure he's aware of what he programmed, James," Q said evenly as they continued their walk, now entering Central Park. "The Machine took on a life of its own. There is no outside influence, no new programs, no debugging, no updates. It does everything itself. It's a closed system and still it has input in form of what it records and filters. It interacts with Finch in a way that it doesn't employ with whoever is using it right now. He has only a back door, but he has its complete attention."

Bond raised his eyebrows.

They stopped and watched a dog chase after a Frisbee.

"He is The Admin," Q explained. "He is someone the machine has known from day one. It protects him and it has done so in the past. I've never seen anything so beautiful, so alien and still so very human."

"Sentient?"

"I don't know. It has a self-awareness, it has loyalty in a very twisted sense, and it reacts clearly to threats against Harold Finch. Aside from that I can't tell you anything else."

They stood silently for a while, Q's eyes distant. Bond was next to him, almost touching, and his own eyes scanned the area for any kind of threat. Around them people walked and jogged and talked on their cell phones, played with their children, their dogs, or just sat and read.

And there were cameras.

Watching.

He looked up into the one closest to them. A red light flared and he smiled humorlessly.

"It can't see us, but it knows we are here," Q said calmly. "I'm masking our presence. We're known to it. We know about it."

"Risk assessment," the agent murmured.

"Yes."

The agent fell silent, but the blue eyes were sharper, colder.

"So, hellhound," he finally remarked, almost off-handedly.

Q shrugged. "Not as rare as it sounds, but rather special in its own way because they aren't easy to find. The name is a bit of a misfit, actually. Nothing hellish about them and not really hounds." He shot Bond a smirk. "Like you aren't actually turning into a bird."

"Too bad."

"Right. Well, you were called a phoenix because you can resurrect. Hellhounds are fierce guardians and extremely loyal. Give them a duty to fulfill, they will do so until death. The line goes back a long way."

"No one calls them cerberus, though."

"No. Like I said, misnomer. Hellhounds can hide easily and some mistake them for werewolves. Since they are loners they don't wander around to seek out a pack. I'm surprised he fit into a werewolf pack and ran with them so long. The wolves would have less of a problem with him; it's the hound who might feel threatened."

"He didn't."

"Until the day someone set him up to be killed."

Bond shrugged with one shoulder. "Danger of the job"

Q shot him a look, but the Double-Oh didn't elaborate.

"Hellhounds aren't supernaturals. They can't truly change shape, only certain aspects of their appearance."

"His eyes," Bond nodded.

"Yes. He can grow canines and claws, and his eyes can go all shades of red, orange or yellow. Some have silvery eyes. Those are usually older. Hellhounds have bursts of strength or speed, but aren't as enduring in that regard as werewolves. They can beat a human any time, though."

Bond looked thoughtful, probably rethinking his confrontation with Reese in the alley. The man could have killed him with his bare hands, or an arm tied behind his back, even without CIA black ops training.

"They aren't truly preternatural either because of those physical changes, but all the books I've checked classify them as such. They're also categorized as fire," the quartermaster continued. "Like a phoenix. You're a fire sign."

"I didn't know you were into astrology."

He grimaced. "It has nothing to do with astrology, 007. All preternaturals and supernaturals have a basic... element, so to say. The phoenix is easy. Fire. Werewolves are earth. Hellhounds are fire, which isn't fun when forced to run with earth."

"Sounds like you're trying to create my Chinese horoscope, Q."

Q ignored the little jab. They walked into the hotel and he didn't continue until they were alone on their floor.

"Fire especially needs to be grounded. The phoenix more than others because of your special ability. Hellhounds are caught between two worlds. They are like werewolves in some regards, wanting another person close, but unable to depend on a pack for balance. And like all fire-born ones they also seek independence."

Bond was silent, eyes straying to his partner now and then. When the door closed after them, the phoenix looped an arm around Q's waist and pulled him close, burying his face against the warm neck.

"Grounding," he murmured when Q made a quizzical noise.

The quartermaster wrapped his arms around the older man. Bond kissed the exposed skin, delivering a little bite before pulling back. Q's face reflected openness.

The next kiss was delivered to his lips. It wasn't chaste or even probing. It was full of intention and promise.

Q let his partner lead, let the phoenix rise and take over, and he hummed in approval in the back of his throat when Bond was pushing him toward the master bedroom.

Yes, that intention was very clear.

And he didn't mind at all.

tbc...