Really sorry that this has taken so long to update! I've had massive writer's block. It was like trying to climb over a 20 foot wall to get at my creativity again. I'm not completely happy with this chapter but you all deserve an update. I promise the next will be better.

Q, head technician of Q branch of MI6 and Quartermaster to James Bond, was used to a Bond that took. It didn't surprise him when James appeared in his bed uninvited and seeking protection from the demons in his mind. It was even less surprising when he woke in the morning to find that Bond had slipped away without a word. He was used to Bond barreling through his quiet life and taking what he needed from the young Q. Then, when his needs were satisfied for at least one evening, the Bond that was no longer James would march boldly back into his own life.

Q wasn't bothered. Many had warned him not to expect much from a man that was so arrogant and crass as James Bond. Any relationship with him was bound to fail, they said. Bond was of a species that only knew how to take, to take and take and never give, until the giver was worn out and empty or dead. Stay far away from that one, everyone cautioned. He only likes a pretty thing in his bed. He's a blunt instrument, that one, not worth your time or the pain he'll cause you.

Yes, Q had heard the advisements that preceded the man, most of them many times over from a variety of mouths. He had taken most with a grain of salt, for tongues in MI6 were not as tight as one might expect from an agency of national security.

Q had instead made his one study of the man known as 007. Over days and weeks and months he had watched Bond both in the field and as the agent stalked through London as a large cat would his cage. The Bond he had come to know was a gift of mixed blessings. On the one hand, he was M's best field agent, even though he was far from the most reliable (to date, he had "died" three times). Some missions had been known to turn a bit sideways but they always ended in England's favor. On the other, he was a pompous, rude, sometimes ridiculous pain in the arse of everyone forced to deal with him. No one in Q branch had the courage to bring up the many things broken during Bond's second "death". The interns had simply left a new Q10 mug on their leader's desk the next morning.

And as he watched, he learned. He learned that the fearless James Bond wasn't quite as put together as he seemed. When no one bothered to check, the cracks showed through as they would on an overworked teapot used by hands to careless to care for damages. Yes, Agent 007 wasn't quite as well held-together as he would have had everyone believe.

So when Q found himself with his lips on Bond's he knew better than to move.

He locked up and pulled away, still quiet, still calm. Situations such as there were meant to be handled delicately. There was no reason to add to the already spiderwebbed cracks.

He waited until Bond's blue eyes flickered open and then waited still more until Bond had worked through the initial frustration at being denied something that was usually so carelessly given to him from others. It was when the spy's mouth moved to open that the Quartermaster chose to make his argument.

"You don't want this from me," he stated calmly and with all the authority of his position.

"No?" he questioned. His usual smirk was now back in place as he wandered fingers between Q's shoulder blades but Q could see through the act.

"No," he affirmed. "You want an escape. I can't be that for you when you're like this. You're impulsive right now and you would only regret it later. Now, before you argue, I'm not saying no. I seem to have lost the ability to say no to you. I'm saying not right now. You're hurting and it won't do for you to go and mess up something that will only hurt you more. We're going to sit here in the dark just like this until I decide you're in the right headspace to actually be useful for the rest of the day. Alright?"

"And if I decide that I do want you-that-when we leave?"

"Then you can come to my apartment this evening and we'll discuss. You have a key though heaven only knows why I ever thought it a good idea to give you one," Q allowed.

Bond searched his face and seemed to find something like acceptance there; he didn't argue when Q tucked his head into his slender chest and petted through his short blonde crop.

Q sighed to himself as he settled more comfortably. It was going to be difficult, whatever happened that night. Looking at his own emotions rather than James' for once, he found what was holding him back. It wasn't that he didn't want something more. He did. He had for a long while. It was that he couldn't bear to answer the question that had been on those lips only to find later that James regretted even asking. Whatever they had now was working even if it rent a little bit of Q's heart each time he heard the familiar click of a door closing. Best to wait until Bond could think.

It might have been days that the two men sat in the pitch black. Q held James close and pretended not to notice the tears that salted his cardigan and the way James pushed his nose firmly into his skin and whimpered softly as Q smoothed his hair. Time stopped having meaning up until Bond finally pushed away and stood up, tightening his cuffs and dusting off his trousers.

They took different routes back to their respective offices and went about the tasks given to them. The technician found the workers in his department all aflutter from his rapid and unconventional exit. He expertly settled problems that had arisen in his absence and neatly dodged questions flung in his direction. At the end of the day he locked up his office and gathered his things to go. There was still an endless amount of work to be done and projects to be looked over but there wasn't any reason he couldn't do that from the comfort of his own bed.

He firmly told himself that he was not leaving early just to go back to his flat and wait for Bond.