A/N: The previous chapter's final scene 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.
Chapter 13
By the time Eve returned with his belongings, Q was conscious and able to move with only mild discomfort. James had extricated himself from the blanket ball when Q was conscious enough to hold himself up, with the wall's help of course.
Q hadn't been aware enough to watch James strip off the last of his suit, and even hours after his arrival in James' flat, he seemed only half aware. James had slightly increased the air temperature after he'd left, but it still wasn't hot. An hour later, he finally lowered the air temperature back to decent human levels, not wanting Eve to walk into a wall of heat when she returned.
When Eve finally did reenter the flat, James was in a pair of comfortable pajama pants and a white t-shirt. For all the world, he looked like a man about to take a well deserved nap, not someone who'd just killed one man and saved another. Q was still in the bathroom, wrapped in blankets and shivering more with the memory of the cold than from an actual chill.
"How is he?" Eve asked James and handed him a cup from the to-go tray in her hands. A bag for Q was over her shoulder, but it appeared she'd made a pit stop for tea. Hot tea. Good decision.
"He needs to stay warm for the rest of the night, and it probably would be best if he stayed indoors with a heater tomorrow just to be sure, but his body will be fine," James said, sounding confounding-ly like some sort of medical expert.
"And mentally? He nearly died," Eve reminded, as though James had forgotten about the deathlike state he'd found Q in, as though he could have already forgotten hugging the younger man tightly to his body to warm him up for over two hours.
James held in his annoyance. She meant well. "He hasn't said anything," James admitted, then motioned toward the bathroom. "You should check on him."
"Me?" she asked, but started walking anyway.
"You are his best friend, aren't you?" James asked without expecting an answer.
They both knew it didn't require a response, so the conversation dropped. James stood still in the hall while Eve made her way through the master bedroom into the bathroom. The aging agent rubbed his hand over his face and took a slow breath.
Since he had time while Q was in the care of the capable Miss Moneypenny, James supposed he should call M and update him… so he did. He pushed a speed dial on his mobile and then stood staring out his windows at the dark London night as he brought his boss up-to-date on the events of the evening, leaving out some of the details on how bad Q's condition might be.
He got an earful for killing Charlie, but in the end James could tell even Mallory wasn't actually upset about it. Bringing the bad guys in was a plus, not a requirement, and Q had been more important in that instance than trying to fill a jail cell. The lecture was still expected, though. It would look good in a report.
"Tend to the young man for the night," Mallory said, echoing James' own plans. "If he's up for it, bring him in tomorrow. Either he can help us with all the information he has locked up in that brain of his, or we can help him."
"Sir?"
"Well, you should know, 007. We have the finest therapists in London on call." Mallory had a smile in his voice, but it fell away with his next line. "If he feels like talking, of course."
"Thank you, Sir," James said. Somehow Mallory could understand things James hadn't told him. It made him a good M. Then the call ended and he was left in his flat, trying to see past his own reflection and to the stars outside.
The reflection in the window helped though. Without it, he wouldn't have noticed Moneypenny approaching him. Her footsteps were too quiet with her shoes off. But when he saw her approach, he turned smoothly, and she shrugged noncommittally to his wordless greeting.
"He wants to talk to you," she said simply. Her tone gave away no hint of Q's mood in either direction, and he supposed that was a good sign too.
Nodding once, he strode past her and into the bathroom once more. The blankets were still on Q, but he was no longer wrapped up. He'd let them pillow around his waist as he stared blankly ahead at the bathtub.
"How are you?" James asked, though the question felt flat and unhelpful.
"How did you even know so much about me?" Q asked, not looking up at James. He was wearing the new glasses Eve had brought him, but his gaze was on the tub as though he was doing calculations about just how large it was. "I mean, when we … well I suppose 'met' would be stretching it. But when we passed each other the other day, you weren't surprised at all. How did you know?"
Hm. Honesty is the best policy, right? James shrugged. "I'm a spy," he said simply. "I took what you told me and found you. No computers. No files. I just looked into Prufrock, into Riley, and you were right in the middle of it. Not the hardest thing I've ever done. But it was interesting."
"You truly have a way with words, James Bond," Q said, using James' full name for the first time. "Remind me to list you as the person I want writing my obituary." He touched his glasses and, with great effort, pushed himself up to take a seat on the edge of the tub. He glanced at James then, saw the concerned draw of the agent's brow, and said, "Oh don't look at me like that. I'm not dying today."
"Remind me of that in the morning, after your body temperature can make you sweat like a normal person again," James said, dead serious.
They lapsed into silence and Q rubbed his nose absentmindedly, his attention back on immoveable objects, like the wall. Somehow, James had imagined meeting Q in person to involve more cliché suave lines from himself and more swooning from Q. This was tense, as though they didn't know each other at all. Or that perhaps they had known each other, but there had been a good row and they weren't quite back on speaking terms. But there had been no fight.
Sighing, Q removed his glasses and rubbed a hand down over his face. "This is not how I envisioned our first meeting," he murmured and pinched the bridge of his nose.
"Oh? And how did you picture it?" James asked. "Was I as handsome and charming in your visions?"
That drew a small laugh from Q and the slighter man put his glasses back on. He turned and looked at James with a tiny smile. "Well I figured your hair would be longer, I suppose. But I've seen you before today too. You tried defending my sister from Charlie." When James raised a quizzical eyebrow, Q did not look ashamed. He merely shrugged. "I was just down the street. Saw what happened and had a notion. Called you right after to make sure I was right. The poor sod from Prufrock I dumped coffee on was my James."
A slow smile took over James' face then, and Q looked like he didn't know how to take it. But James couldn't stop. His chest had the oddest sensation in it, something similar to outsmarting a villain. In a low voice, he asked, "Your James?"
The blush that took over Q's face, took over his whole body, was endearing. He stammered when he spoke. "N-Not 'mine'. I just meant- Well you're the only James I know and, well, how else do you specify one person from a thousand others? I didn't mean- I'm-"
Chuckling, James grabbed one of his bath robes before setting it gently in Q's hands. "Calm down, Q. Don't need you having a heart attack on top of everything." He slid his own hands into his pockets and took a step back. "Put on the robe. Come into the other room and drink your tea. I may even have some milk and lemon for you."
"Daniel," Q said, stopping James' backwards retreat. Slipping the robe on, he looked calmly up into James' expectant eyes. "My name is Daniel. Q is from my middle name – Quincy."
"And which would you prefer I call you?" James asked, back leaning against the door frame now.
A shrug. "In my experience, people tend to take fondness with whichever name sounds best to their own ears. And I don't just mean with me. So pick whichever you prefer." He was trying to sound nonchalant about it, but he seemed a bit too nervous to pull it off completely. Still, James let it slide.
"Maybe I'll call you Quincy," he teased, but his voice was flat and serious.
Q shot him a disapproving stare. "I'd really rather you not."
"So much for my own preference," James said, and this time it sounded like the tease it was. Q's face flickered between amused and stubbornly disapproving, but there was enough amusement that James felt proud.
Anyway, names didn't matter. He'd known Q's true name for awhile and still called him Q. It didn't change a thing.
In the end, he had to help Q stand and walk into the other room because his limbs weren't full of forgiveness. "They feel like they're full of needles," Q complained. They set him up a bundle of blankets on the couch, leaving James with no blanket for the night but that was fine. He'd slept with less.
And while Eve helped get Q anything and everything he'd need, including his new clothes for the night and following day, James stood there with a ridiculous question on his mind, especially given all the dangerous circumstances. He was watching the scene unfurl in his own living room and wondering, who the heck names their kid Quincy?
The time read exactly half past midnight when Eve finally left James' flat. Q was settled on the couch and James lay awake on his bed, no blanket to be found. For quite some time, James did attempt to sleep, but when he turned his head to the clock on his bedside desk, it revealed that he had failed to do so after almost two hours.
Letting out a long breath of air through his nose, James turned his gaze to the ceiling. He heard nothing in the rest of his flat, so Q was sleeping soundly in a bundle of sheets, the inside air turned up just a tad too hot. And James was certain no one had seen him enter or exit the Cane property that night, so no one would have followed him home. They were safe. Q would be fine.
So why did he feel so alert? This was the way his mind and body reacted when waiting for enemy agents to burst into the room at any moment. This was the resting state of someone who presumed they were being watched. He needed to relax. He needed to truly rest so he could be useful in the morning to go after Riley.
His nerves alerted him instantly to the sound of movement just beyond his open bedroom door. Someone was walking in the other room. Quietly, James slipped from his bed and moved toward the rest of his flat. When he made it to the doorway, he took a silent breath and stood against the wall, out of sight.
The footsteps grew closer, and James could tell they were making an effort to be quiet – but not quiet enough. When the stranger was within range, James reached out and grabbed them. He spun their bodies until he was pressing the intruder against the wall where he'd been hiding.
A blanket dropped against James' bare feet and the gasp of his victim brought him up short. This was no intruder. Blast his nerves. He should have known better.
"Apologies, Q," he murmured, taking a step back and letting the younger man off the wall. "You should be sleeping."
Rubbing his chest where James had pressed him into the wall, Q cleared his throat. "Well I'm awake. Though I suppose I should have known better than to try and sneak into the room of an MI-6 field agent."
He bent down to retrieve his dropped blanket, wrapping it back around his shoulders when he returned to a standing position, and James cocked his head curiously to the side. "Why were you trying to sneak into my room?" If Q were anyone else, James would worry about backstabbing, assassination attempts, enemy espionage, but with Q he let all of his usual theories drop and found he was left with no explanations.
For a moment, Q fiddled with the blanket, eventually managing to tie it so it wouldn't fall off again. Then, no distractions immediately available, he pursed his lips and took a brief moment to steel himself. Finally he relaxed with a sigh of acceptance and said, "I couldn't sleep. When I feel the tingle of my skin, I think I'm back in that blasted basement, regardless of the blankets. And when I open my eyes, I see darkness. Unfortunately, that doesn't help the feeling. So I suppose I was trying to remind myself of where I was by checking in on you. Silly, I know."
"Not at all," James assured with a shake of his head. He motioned for Q to return to the other room and the younger man obediently obliged. James followed slowly behind. "It may surprise you, but I've been in a few skirmishes myself. Sometimes, at night, it's hard to forget I'm not right back in them. A therapist once told me it had something to do with the dark. But I found keeping on the lights only raised the electric bill, not my sense of security."
"So what do you do when you can't sleep?" Q asked, sitting down on the couch.
"I pour a glass of scotch and sit at the window," he answered honestly with a wry grin. "But I don't see you as the alcoholic type. You may want to find your own way, as mine is not particularly healthy."
Q lowered his eyes to the carpet and then looked toward the kitchen. "Actually," he began, "I had a thought about that… but it would require assistance on your part. I'm not sure if you'd mind."
Hearing Q so soft, even if he wasn't fearful or cowering, brought out the protective side of Bond. His Q was loud and full of proud opinions and ideas. … And this was his Q, beaten down and stuck in a nightmare. But there were no words in James Bond's vocabulary to express how willing he was to do whatever it took to get Q back on stable ground, back where he felt he was in control and safe again.
"I suppose we won't know until you ask," he replied. Q was right – he'd write terrible obituaries.
With a shrug and a nod of his head, Q agreed with the sentiment and then nodded once more for good measure. "Well then I guess I'll just get on with it then, shall I? I was hoping to lay with you. Nothing sexual, of course. Just for the body heat and the knowledge that someone else was nearby. Someone not trying to drown me or kill me, obviously."
James was taken back into that basement, reminded of the wet nature of the floor and Q's body, and he imagined Charlie with a rag over Q's face while his father poured the water. His fists clenched and released.
"The couch is wide enough," James answered and took a seat by Q. "But I would understand if the proximity was too close. We can move to the bed if you-"
"The couch is fine," Q interrupted brazenly, emboldened by James' agreement, and James smiled proudly back. Perhaps he would not need to be so careful of Q as he had expected.
So they wormed their way into Q's bundle, spooning of all things. James had his arm around Q's middle, his other tucked up under his own head like an extra pillow, and after several minutes, it actually seemed Q was relaxing into the embrace. Then some mixture of exhaustion and acceptance had Q's muscles unclenching all the way, and his weight settled farther against James – something comfortable and secure against James' chest.
A small, calm smile etched itself onto James' face and he closed his eyes. The tension and alertness from before did not return, and he blamed it on feeling Q against him and knowing he was safe and within reach.
He listened to Q's breathing even out into a steady rhythm and then took a slow, deep breath of Q's hair. It still had a musty scent, something gained from lying on a wet floor for nearly two days – but it was proof that Q was there, and that was the point. It would take a long bath to remove the smell of Q's ordeal. The thought made James remember Q sitting on the tub's edge and saying 'My James', and his calm smile grew a little wider.
"My Q," he murmured into the dark, his eyes closed and his own heart rate slowing. With his mind on Q's slowly increasing body temperature, he drifted into his first dreamless sleep in years.
Eve found them that way, curled together under the blankets. She wasn't there, staring down at them, when they woke up, but James knew. They woke to the sound of a knock on the door and James slowly extricated himself from their bundle to investigate who was paying him a visit so early in the morning. Eve waited patiently on the other side of the door and smiled at him when he opened it to allow her in.
Those were the odd things though, the details that told James she knew. Detail one – Eve had a key. James had given her one last night when she'd left to get Q's belongings. There was no reason she shouldn't have been able to let herself in. Detail two – she was smiling at him. There was no apprehension on her face, no doubt of Q's wellbeing or suspicion of James' conduct. She asked no questions about the situation at present, simply greeted him and shrugged off her coat.
James processed those facts as she walked over to the couch to address her friend and ask him personally about his condition. Did James mind that she had seen? She didn't seem to mind. And she had taken the courtesy of returning to the door and letting them wake up in private.
No doubt about it – James didn't mind in the slightest.
He came to stand by the end of the couch while Q assured her he was feeling much better. "A good, warm night's rest was the perfect remedy. I promise," Q said.
Eve glanced between the two of them and her smile grew a little more devious. "Well I'm glad," she said. "You gave me a terrible fright, and I will not allow you to do it again. Can't lose my best friend, now can I?"
Now Q's lips quirked up too. "No. That would be unforgiveable."
"Damn right it would be," Eve teased and pat his knee. "Now, I don't know that James has told you, but M was hoping you could make it in to the office this morning. James has a meeting with Mr. Cane at ten-" Q's eyes darted over to James in temporary shock before he schooled his features and looked back to Eve. "- and M is looking for any information or assistance you can provide."
"Of course." Q nodded and pushed himself to his feet. He appeared much stronger than the night before. His skin had returned to its usual shade and he did not wobble on unsteady legs. "Anything I can do to help. It's time I started contributing to this enterprise instead of hindering it."
In his head, James couldn't help but note how Q already sounded like an agent. He didn't talk like some poor college bloke from Haringey. He sounded like a bred and brilliant operative, ready to take on international and domestic threats. Now M just had to realize that too.
"Get dressed. We'll grab a bite at the office," Eve said with a broad smile. "Time to show the world how great you truly are."
"Indeed," James agreed. Q looked flustered by the praise and unsure how to respond, but he looked pleased too. They'd have to compliment him more often.
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