Chapter 12

The younger Cane had visited three properties the evening Q disappeared, and it would be best if all three could be checked before morning because James would just love to show up to his meeting with Riley with a team of MI-6 trained enforcers to arrest him and take him in for questioning. Also because the longer Q was missing, the less chance they'd find him alive. He'd already been missing for almost two days. It wasn't a good timeline.

The sun was starting to set as James stepped out of his cab and looked down a line of quaint homes. They were full of families settling in for the night, relaxing in their private abodes on the edge of the bustling hub of London. As the cab drove away, James checked his watch. Moneypenny would be arriving at her first home to search in a moment, he noted and started to walk.

With temperatures dropping, they didn't want to be skulking about in bushes for too long, so they split the list and each took a property to investigate. If they found no traces of Q, they'd meet at the third building. If they did find him, they'd text each other.

As if on cue from his thoughts, James' phone buzzed. He eyed his destination down the street as he pulled his mobile out and saw he had a voicemail. Odd. His phone hadn't notified him of an incoming call.

He kept walking as he accessed the message and barely stopped himself from sighing as he had to listen to the automated message beforehand. When the message began, he slowed his walk until he was standing still on the sidewalk again.

Someone less trained would think the message was static, but James had practice in listening to bad audio recordings. It was air blowing past an opening or through a hollow space or both. It was the sound of air at the end of a train tunnel, or the sound of night heard from the sewer. Then there was the quiet lap of water. A drop hitting a puddle? A footstep? It didn't repeat.

A shaking breath.

"I know you've got to be looking," Q's voice broke into the static of the call. He sounded tired, his voice rough, and James imagined him calling for help long enough to make his vocal chords raw. "Of course you're looking. I'd never forgive you if you weren't."

He stopped to cough and James frowned. Another plop of water. Soft. Small. Something dripping slowly.

"Idiots," Q continued when he had breath. "I've… Charlie didn't even think about the watch. It's… I mean, it's no mobile, I suppose. But it's got range." He took a slow, ragged breath. "And you'll get close. I know you will. You'll get this. Just-"

James started walking again, his chest tight, his determination high. Q had sent out a distress call to James' phone on something with limited range? And James was close enough to receive it. Q had to be near this property.

"It's- huh, it's about ten at the moment. Degrees, that is, if my watch it to be believed, and it is. Mist expected in the morning. Look, I didn't study biology but it'd be a bloody relief if you could discover me before I freeze to death. Hypothermia isn't a pleasant experience, or so the movies tell me." And the breath he let out afterward did not bode well for his body temperature at the time of the call.

The voicemail ended.

Below ground but with access to the outside air. James walked up to the home in question, which was currently closed for renovations, and began to check the perimeter.

His phone buzzed again and he quickly clicked to listen to the voicemail, grunting his annoyance at the automated message. This time the silent sound of air and a choppy connection lasted much longer and James' stomach knotted unpleasantly.

Finally, Q's voice, achingly soft, shuddered into existence. "S-Sometime s-soon w-would be n-nice, James." Damn, how long ago had this second message been sent? "D-don't let m-me f-freeze to d-death down h-here… I p-promise. I didn't… I didn't tell them a-anything." He took a horrible, shivering breath and then a sound like a snort came over the line. "W-Wanker," he said. "H-haven't even g-gone on a-a proper d-date."

The call continued but Q did not. The sound got muffled by clothing or dirt or whatever, it didn't really matter. And ten seconds later, the sound cut off and the mechanical female voice asked him if he wanted to delete the message. James ended the call and slipped his mobile away.

There. A grate in the ground. It was barely large enough for an air vent, but he hurried to it and blocked out the setting sun to look down into it. It ran down quite a ways into the soil, but James saw it curve inward at the bottom before meeting some sort of mesh blockade against anything falling into it. The house had some sort of cellar.

Carefully, he snuck up to the house and tested the door. Locked, of course. But he didn't know if there was anyone inside. From his jacket pocket he pulled a lock pick kit and easily, quietly let himself in. The sun was the only light in the place, and even that only made it through the newly opened door.

Relieved, but not letting his guard down, James took note of the slim furnishings – a simple wooden chair and small one person table, a standalone lamp, and nothing else. It was barren of all luxuries of a home, with no decorations on the walls or colorful rugs on the floors. The tiny kitchen showed no signs of dishes and the stale smell of the room suggested traffic was minimal. The only thing beautiful about this house was the exterior – a pretty façade to keep away wandering eyes.

Walking with more assurance now, James began opening doors to find the stairs into the basement. The rest of the house was as empty as the main room, to the point that the only additions James found were toilet paper, hand soap, and a small towel in the bathroom. Even the bedroom was barren.

Finally he found the stairs behind a door so thin he'd originally expected to see nothing but an empty closet beyond it. He hesitated. What if Q wasn't alone down there? What if they knew about the watch and this was a trap? No matter what, James was going down, but-

He pulled his gun and treaded carefully, doing his best to avoid making the stairs creak. The door closed quietly behind him. Surprisingly, the stairs were in great condition, so he made almost no noise on his descent. The cellar was black and soundless, almost to the point that James could hear his own blood rushing through his ears.

"Q?" he chanced to call out. Even in his coat, James shivered in the chilly subterranean air.

Silence.

At the base of the stairs, he hesitated, and when no one attacked him, he reached his hand out for the support beam and found the light switch. A single, small bulb snapped to life in the center of the ceiling, jarring James' eyes for a moment. It wasn't very bright, but after adjusting to the dark house and the black basement, it was like a flashlight right in his face.

He blinked hard several times and squinted at the room. Rain had slipped down into the room from the drain up above so that the ground was damp and the air itself felt humid. And there, tied to a cement support beam, was Q. He was curled up on his side and his glasses were half off his face, but the most concerning fact was how still the other man was.

James scanned the room for possible hiding places for assailants. When he was certain they were alone, he holstered his gun and hurried to Q's side. Upon closer inspection, Q was also wet, and his clothes were disheveled. Strike the earlier theory. Rain hadn't done this. This was Charlie's work. Based on the room and Q's second message, this was more than just Q's jail cell – it was his interrogation room too.

"Q," he called again, cupping the other's face to lift it from the ground. No response. The young programmer's skin was frigid.

James pulled Q's glasses off and held them under the other's nose, but either Q wasn't breathing at all or it was too faint to fog the glasses in the damp chill of the room.

"Q," James growled in warning, anger and denial seeping into his chest. He checked for a pulse and had to take several breaths to calm himself so he could feel it over his own.

Weak, but it was there. He quickly disrobed of his jacket and wrapped it around Q instead, trying to bring warmth back to the thin, frozen body. Then he made quick work of the bonds around Q's wrists and ankles. He was just sorting out how best to get Q into town without raising suspicions when he heard the footsteps upstairs.

His blood boiled. Riley or Charlie or maybe even Blofeld was coming to check on their prisoner. Well they'd be sorry they did once they made it downstairs. James stood and went to the light switch, casting the room into darkness once more. He pulled his gun and moved to stand behind the stairs, out of sight.

The footsteps drew closer and then paused in front of the door. James took a slow, deep breath as the knob turned and the door opened, allowing the kidnapper in. Unlike James, the new person walked heavy and trod down the stairs like an oafish drunk.

Ugh. Based on the smell that came with him, maybe he was drunk.

The light clicked on and revealed the newcomer to be Charlie. Not the owner of the operation, but James wasn't going to complain about it. There was a bottle in Charlie's hand but it was empty. Too late, James realized he'd left his jacket on Q, but the younger Cane didn't seem to notice.

Definitely drunk, then.

"You," Charlie slurred out, staring down at Q's unmoving body. "It's all your bloody fault, innit? Callin' an' textin' her all the time. Tellin' her all my faults. Makin' me the bad guy." He coughed and shook his head. Then he shouted, all anger and no sense, "I ain't a bad guy! I was good to her! Now she's gone an' thinks she can hide with yer parents?!" He sucked in a sharp breath and started laughing, swaying his way closer to Q. "Jokes on you, innit? After all yer pleadin' and sweet talkin', you finally got her to go home. But your home is my home, bruv. An' when my da' hears about this? You think your stupid, fuckin' family is gonna squeak on by?!"

He tossed the bottle and it smashed into shards against the wall. To James' amazement, Q actually flinched, although he did not appear to regain consciousness. But it was enough to distract James from stepping out at that moment.

"Not how this is gonna go, Danny boy! First I'm gonna finally end your pathetic little struggle here, then I'm gonna drop in on yer parents an' show 'em how Carver's deal with traitors!" Charlie took another step toward Q, but James had heard enough.

In a swift move, he stepped out of hiding and raised his gun. Charlie had just enough time to hear the movement and turn to face his attacker before the bullet caught him between the eyes. Part of James felt sick over the bluntness of the death. Inside, he admitted that he'd wanted to shoot the young man in several body parts first, but time had convinced him to make it quick.

Q may not have time.

Holstering his weapon, James stepped over the new dead body in the room and pulled Q up into a sitting position. Q's watch, the one he'd called out to James with, lit up with the movement and gave the agent an idea.

It only took Eve one ring to answer.

"I need your car," he said before she'd even finished greeting him. "Now."


The ride to James' flat was tense and silent, the two conscious adults too wrapped up in their own anxiety to attempt conversation or explanation. James sat in the back of the car with Q, keeping him pulled close to share his body heat. By the time the car stopped out front, the younger man was starting to shiver again, which was a good sign, but his eyes didn't open and he made no sounds.

He was still so cold, and James had never had to help someone else through hypothermia. He knew how to self-care but… No. He knew how to care for hypothermia. He knew the best thing would be to get Q to a hospital, but Blofeld would be watching for that. James had to do it off books.

Eve opened the door while James carried Q in, and then she went and raised the thermostat's temperature.

"Not too high, Miss Moneypenny. We don't need to sweat to death," James said offhandedly. Then, looking down into Q's face, he added, "I need you to go to his place. He needs new clothes and see if he has another pair of glasses. Grab anything you think is useful. We don't want Riley getting it first."

"What about Q?" she asked, hesitating.

"I'll take care of him." He looked up and met her eyes, worried and skeptical as they were. "Trust me."

Maybe it was the deepness to his voice or the slight plead hanging in the background of the words, but something made the dark skinned woman lose some of her nervousness. She nodded, bracing herself for walking away, and gave Q one last, long look before she finally left.

James wasted no time. He carried Q to the bathroom and quickly disrobed him of his damp clothes. Not knowing if it was the hypothermia or the interrogation techniques that put Q in his current state made James wary. He could easily do too much and send Q into a shock that could kill him, but he could also easily do too little.

Taking a towel, he dried Q's hair and then worked his way down the other's body, getting him as dry as possible. The air in the bathroom was already heating up, and James was starting to sweat in his suit, but he finished drying Q all the way down to his toes before considering himself. The bathroom always got the brunt of the air conditioner quicker than the rest of the flat and always more intensely too.

Off went his tie, his jacket, his shoes. He covered Q with a large towel and left the bathroom to find something the younger man could borrow to cover up. James' clothes would undoubtedly be too large, but some underpants at least would be beneficial, especially once Q woke up. As James headed back for the bathroom, he let his shirt drop from his shoulders to the floor, not caring where it ended up.

Once Q was covered and decent again, James grabbed all his blankets, a whopping two, and took a seat beside the other man. Carefully, and to the slight disagreement of Q, James pulled the other into his lap and covered them with the blankets. Q's head sagged against James' shoulder, and James could feel every shudder that went through the other's body where their torsos were pressed together, skin to skin. Shuddering was good, he reminded himself.

Under the blankets, James slowly rubbed his hands up and down Q's arms to warm them. In any other situation, being half naked with a mostly naked Q might have been sexy. Pressing their bodies together, sweat starting to build on James' skin, and rubbing the other's arms might have been foreplay. But not now. Not for either of them. James, popularly described playboy, wasn't thinking about that. He was simply holding Q close and hoping the hypothermia wasn't as bad as he thought, because he didn't want Q to ache and he didn't want Q to die, but most of all he didn't want to take Q to the MI-6 building's health department.

He trusted them less than he'd like to admit. They were all vetted, of course, but the looks they always gave James told him they kept no secrets from the higher ups or from gossip, and James didn't need the whole department whispering about Q before he even got properly settled.

In his arms, Q made a sound of discomfort and tried to shift his position, which was another good sign. With a sigh of relief, James reached his hand up and cupped the side of Q's face before pressing his own cheek against the dark mop of hair on Q's head. He was regaining movement after such a short time. Q was going to be fine.

Another few minutes later, Q coughed and hissed and then finally, slowly, opened his eyes. He turned his head only a fraction, just enough to see who was half under him and saving his life. Was that confusion in his eyes? Or caution?

"James?" he asked, his voice broken and tired.

Despite himself, James smiled and then he pushed the curling hair from Q's face. "Q," he said.

"Where-?" Q tried to ask, but lost his voice after the first word.

James shook his head and said, "Don't worry. You're safe. Frozen, but safe. You're going to be just fine."

The simple, vague placations seemed to be enough, because Q nodded brokenly and relaxed against James' body. Silence took over, and James just focused on listening to the shivers slowly leaving Q's lungs.

Down in the dark of that basement, Charlie's body was already cold. While no one would know that Charlie had gone there in a drunken rage, it was only a matter of time before someone found him – whether by looking for him or by looking for Q. MI-6 needed to act now, before the other Spectre agents figured out what was going on.

In James' arms, Q moaned in pain, and James knew there was no moving until Q was better. But once Eve got back, she could send M a message. Cane was Carver. Charlie had said so. Now they just needed to use his father to find Blofeld and this mission could be over.


Thanks for reading! Comments are life!

This chapter was altered after a well worded comment convinced me to be more realistic about how to deal with hypothermia. I could have been lazy and left it because it's fanfiction, but I decided to be responsible about my writing and the effect it could have on others and changed it. Thanks to silvergenesis for keeping me accountable.

Please note: Don't be James Bond. do not try to care for someone with extreme hypothermia at home. Take them to a hospital immediately.