Interlude II
Bond makes it back to London in time for the last thunderstorm of the fall. He has just spent three weeks in a scorching African desert, and so the temperature is a relief. When he arrives at the flat after a grueling two hour meeting with Mallory, he finds that Q is already home. The lights are on and the windows are open just enough that Bond can smell the damp of earth and car exhaust outside.
"Welcome back," Q says. He is standing in the doorway to the bedroom, completely naked except for his glasses. Bond lets his eyes roam appreciatively along Q's form, knowing from the past few months just which angles are his favourite, and which ones look like hard lines but are actually quite soft, especially when Q has gone hazy with orgasm. His gaze rests at the mark on his hip before shifting to the interested cock between his legs.
"I prefer this to debriefing any day," Bond replies, thinking three weeks is three weeks too long since they've last been together. The way Q grins at him, Bond knows he feels the same.
They fall into bed together, as fierce and unstoppable as the storm outside. Bond won't admit that he's a little sore after, but in a satisfying way. Q has marks all over his neck that he'll complain about when he has to cover them up before he can go to work in the morning, but for now he's flushed and smiling. The rain slows down and the wind calms, leaving nothing but the gentle sound of it hitting the windows. Bond traces random patterns on Q's stomach, then trails lower to the flowers on his hip. He still thinks that Q's mark is more beautiful than his. He wonders if it has something to do with age.
"Thirteen, hm?" Bond says, moving his thumb over one of the most prominent petals.
"Hmm?" Q replies. His eyes are closed and Bond wonders if he had been dozing.
"When this appeared," Bond clarifies.
"Mm," Q answers, and stretches out like a cat next to him. His long limbs move around Bond until he finds himself trapped in a lazy embrace. Bond curls his arm round Q and rests his cheek in his hair, thinking about how terrifying it must have been for a thirteen year-old boy to undergo agonising pain without knowing why. Then to relive thousands of years of memories and realise that everything is predetermined, foreordained, and that free choice is nothing but an illusion? And to not tell a single soul about any of it?
"Must have been hard," Bond says, even though hard most likely does not begin to cover it.
"It was," Q agrees, and curls into him with a sigh. "Mathematics have always been comforting to me in that regard. Computers even more so. My chance to play God, you know? Make decisions that are not already mapped out somewhere in time and space."
"And your parents?" Bond asks.
"We don't talk. We never really did. No common ground."
"Friends?"
"A few growing up. One or two at uni. Nothing special."
"Partners?"
"No, none."
Bond looks down at the man in his arms, strokes at his hair and thinks that it's impossible, because certainly Q had not been...
"Was that your first time?" Bond asks.
"Hmm, what?" Q asks sleepily, stirring against him.
"The night we first got together," Bond elaborates. "Was that your first time?"
There is a thoughtful silence for a few moments.
"Our lives are a series of first meetings and first times," Q replies, his words pretty and rhythmic like poetry. "So, no, it wasn't my first time, because we've made love before and will continue to make love in many of the lives after this one."
"That doesn't answer my question," Bond replies, "about this life, I mean."
"I'm not uneducated in the area of sex," Q answers, somewhat defensively. "But my body was, I suppose, virginal at the time, yes."
"You were a virgin?" Bond asks.
"Yes," Q clarifies, and looks up at Bond with a small smile. "Thank you for being gentle with me. It was a beautiful experience."
"So you've never...I mean, anything? With anyone else?" Bond inquires, because he has to know.
"No, just you," Q answers, like it's the simplest thing. Bond does not know what expression he wears, but Q regards him gently. "Why would I settle for anyone less? I knew I would meet you one day. I didn't think it prudent to waste my time with others who weren't right for me."
"What if I was married? Or with someone else?" Bond asks. Q shrugs one shoulder.
"I might be tempted by someone, it's possible, but really the only person who can satisfy me is you," Q replies, then rests his head on the pillow next to Bond's. "I feel incomplete otherwise."
Bond settles next to him, trails his fingers along Q's cheekbone in wonder.
"You waited...all that time…"
"I did," Q says, and smiles just a bit. "It's you or no one else."
Bond stares at the curve of Q's collarbone, feeling overwhelmingly guilty that while he had spent his whole life jumping from one bed to another, Q had remained celibate and steadfast, waiting for him.
"And I-"
"Don't, James," he interrupts him. Bond looks up and sees nothing but sincerity in Q's grey eyes. The other man props himself up on his elbow. His voice is all practicality. "Don't feel guilty. I don't begrudge you for any of it. I never could, even if I wanted to." He skips his fingers down Bond's arm, tracing over the tattoo on his chest. The touch of his skin is soothing, like a balm on Bond's nerves. Q moves his finger in gentle circles over the design of red scar tissue. "I'm just...so happy I get to be with you now."
He says it with something tight in his voice, and Bond is immediately concerned.
"Were there times when we didn't meet?" he asks.
"Yes," Q answers, and lies down again. "And those were the worst lives I've ever lived."
"Q-"
"Let's not talk about it right now, yeah?"
Bond nods, even though there is so much that he wants to ask, to say. Q bears the curse of a thousand lifetimes of knowledge, and carries it all alone, upon such small shoulders. Bond kisses at the curve of Q's neck, as if it will somehow make that burden lighter. Fingers slide into his hair, and Bond hums at the touch. There is nothing between them but skin and unspoken things and Bond feels the second like a rift, like a wound. Bond knows that he may never truly understand what Q's been through, but he wants to try.
"What's your name?" Bond asks softly. "Your real name?"
Q looks up at him and Bond watches some of the mystery fall away from his gaze. His eyes are unbelievably green.
"Do you really want to know?" he asks.
"Yes," Bond replies. "All of them."
"All of them?"
"Yes."
"There are a lot," Q warns him.
"I think I'm prepared," Bond answers, and smiles.
"Where should we begin?"
"At the beginning, of course."
Q laughs.
"The beginning was a long time ago," Q reminds him.
"We have time," Bond says. Q's smile falters momentarily, and Bond notices, but doesn't say anything. Q settles down next to him again and murmurs name after name after name, warm breaths against Bond's chest. They're foreign and beautiful and each one sounds even more familiar than the last. By the time Q reaches the last name, the final name, Bond is on the cusp of sleep.
He just barely hears it over the rain.