"Well," coughed Bond, "disentangling himself from Q, standing up and dusting off the rubble. "That answers the what's so special question then," he said, hauling his spluttering companion to his feet.

Not knowing the dimensions of the other rooms, Bond had simply assumed that the partition divided them from the hotel room next door. Instead, an attempt at a bout of semi-drunken sex had revealed a secret alcove containing a wealth of information that White had no doubt been gathering as collateral against his former employers.

Q surveyed their newly discovered surroundings. "Huh. A secret lair. This job is nothing if not a constant journey of discovery. I was starting to think we were being led on some wild goose chase," Q stated, dusting himself off where he stood.

"Entirely possible," mumbled Bond, moving towards the desk by the wall. "But for Dr Swann's confirmation of the reality."

Q had taken a seat and was rifling through the papers on the desk, seeking something familiar. Something that might trigger a memory… He was momentarily distracted by the pause in Bond's movements and looked over to catch him motionless and staring at a VHS tape. Still slightly intoxicated, he scoffed at the archaic bit of technology, "that's more ancient than even you, Bond." Standing to look over his shoulder at what had him so enraptured, he caught the name on the tape and felt himself rapidly sober up.

"Oh…" Vesper Lynd.

Q didn't know when he'd started to literally take his life into his hands. But he said the words anyway.

"You should watch it." Bond didn't spare him a glance, moving to toss the tape to the side, just as Q reached for it and snatched it from his hand.

Without another word, he slipped it into the recorder and switched on the attached screen. Q looked over his shoulder to see Bond standing with his back to him, a model of tension and barely concealed anger radiating from him.

Q still wasn't sure what was compelling him to stumble on relentless. Maybe he was tired of the heat, the perpetual secrecy, watching someone he cared for - fuck cared for, loved - tear themselves apart for the choices they'd been forced to make. Yes indeed, he thought to himself, turning back to the screen. Time for some tough love. No more Mr Nice Q. "For fuck's sake, James," he grumbled. "It's time to shut this chapter of your life. Betrayal is part of the world in which we operate and if you're not used to it by now…"

Q hit play.

He'd seen photos of Vesper Lynd, and it had not been lost on him that they could well share a paternal or maternal thread in their DNA. He and James had even broached the subject once.

Early morning London rain was beating hard against the bedroom window of Arthur Clifton's home. The presence of a pair of blue eyes in the bed next to him was more than enough compensation for the lack of sky presently obscured by heavy clouds. Bond was running his fingers through thick, untamed waves while Q felt himself hover on the cusp of sleep once more. It must have been that half-drowsy, unguarded state that permitted the words to tumble softly from his lips. "Do I remind you of her?" Bond's hand had barely faltered in its tender movements. He would have known his nerdy, eagle-eyed boy misses nothing and always knows more than he lets on about the more subtle nuances of life. Even for someone so immersed in their work, other worlds still existed of which he was profoundly aware between the lines of code he loved so much.

"At first. Yes. You did," whispered Bond, wrapping a strong hand around his neck to pull him close. "But now, now you're Q, body and soul. Quartermaster, Arthur. Mine…"

And nothing more was said.

Vesper was sitting in a chair, motionless, her inscrutable stare trained unblinking at the camera. A voice from behind the lens spoke with a deadly, level tone that broached no compromise, no bargaining, no mercy.

Mr White.

"You will do this for my employer. Or your lover will die. Can you live with his blood on your hands?" She looked past the camera then to the voice beyond. "You don't strike me as a man who indulges much in mercy regardless what I do or do not do," she replied, just before a body came from the side of the frame and laid a brutal flat-palmed blow across her face.

-CUT-

The bruise on her cheek appeared flared and blossoming under the harsh light of the enclosed space where she sat. "Spoilt for choice, aren't we, Ms Lynd?"

That voice again. Soft, self-assured. Knowing that no matter how long and drawn out the dance, victory would ultimately belong to him. "Life comes with costs. Some costs long before death himself graces our threshold. Do you think your government will miss a few million pounds? They might miss a precious asset of the Secret Service more…"

-CUT-

"Turn it off, Q." Q obliged though he was curious to watch more. He stood and turned towards Bond. There was a slight, tired sag around his shoulders now. He was staring blankly into space.

Q placed a hand on the agent's shoulder. "This fucking ghost of an organisation has had us chasing shadows for far too long," he said softly. "Don't you think it's time we exorcised the demons from our world?"

Bond lifted his head then and rolled his shoulders back, once again assuming the look of a man on a mission and the blue steel gaze returned Q's determined look.

"What are we waiting for?"

Agent. Protector. Assassin.

And his Quartermaster would be right there beside him.