Chapter 4
Key:
Bold, Italic and Underlined - pre-story information
Bold - Auther's note in the middle of a paragraph
'Italic With Quote Marks - First person thought'
[Inspiration: 'Skyfall' by Adele. Ironic, ey? haha]
[This is an angst/romance fic]
[A.N: Sorry it has taken so long to update, writer's block ya' know? Anyways I really did not know how to carry this on from Q's point of view so here's a bit of a short James focussed chapter to tide you over until I decide how I'm carrying this on, If you have any suggestions as to what happens to Q or James next please feel free to message me or even leave a review of it, it would be GREATLY appreciated, honestly. It's the 22nd of december and in three days it's christmas again...
*Half heatedly, and hardcore saracstically yays because ew christmas*
I really hate christmas so you might get an upload on christmas day because I'd honestly rather be writing than celebrating.]
[James' POV]
I stormed out of MI6. How can M be so ignorant? I mean, has she met Q? He's harmless and she expects me to leave him God only knows where being tortured. That thought made my stomach lurch... What if he was already dead? No. I always scold Q for his pessimism so why should I start? The protective 'Big brother' in me wanted to find him before he got too hurt, but another part of me needed to find him no matter what, I couldn't put a label on the latter part of me. It was the part of me that made my chest ache when I knew he was in trouble, or when he missed work. The part of me that couldn't help but laugh at his terrible jokes or his cyniscism. The part of me that absolutely terrified that the last damn thing I said to him would in fact be the last thing I'll ever say to him.
"Don't worry Q, I'll be back in Q Branch to break some more inventions faster than you can say 'A mortgage and two cats to feed'." I repeated aloud into the darkness of a London night. I can't believe that is the last thing I said to him. Why couldn't it be something more meaningful, like 'I think your inventions are really cool' or 'You are such a child genius.' or maybe 'You know, The way you tild your head like that? It's cute' but the one thing I'll never say is "Q, I-" My words were cut off as a rushing man walked straight into me
"Terribly sorry." He exclaimed before carrying on his way.
"Hm". I watched a piece of paper float to the floor, cushioned by the slight breeze that flew through the air. "Excuse me!?" I yelled turning around "I think you dropped...". It was no use, he was already way out of earshot. Curiousness getting the better of me I bent down and picked up the paper. I unfolded it carefully revealing a scrawled and quick page of writing that appeared to be a letter, the handwriting seemed unusually familiar.
'Dear James'
My stomach lurched. "I'm sure there are millions of 'James's in London..." I told myself
'Dear James,
I've gotten myself into quite the predicament but it isn't my fault. I promise you that it isn't my fault. I didn't want this, but I got it anyway and all that's left is to deal with it as it comes and hope I survive...
Best Regards'
I gulped audiably. The next signature triggered an ache in my chest I didn't know existed. Worse than a bullet, or ten.
'Q'
A hand shot up to my mouth and covered it as if I was trying to silence any agonizing sound that I felt might come out of my mouth "Q..." I whispered.