Q had always been an early riser. It wasn't unusual, being afflicted - or blessed as he was - with a mind such as his, hardwired in a manner befitting a nerd and a Quartermaster. Being awoken by gentle grunting in the washed-out half light of a breaking dawn, however, was unusual.
In his standard belly down position, he gently opened his eyes to gaze at the silhouette, outlined against the grey light of the large bedroom window. Bond was entirely focussed on his routine, so it was easy for Q's focus on him to go completely unnoticed as he engaged in repetition after repetition of pull-up alternated with push up. Bond was venting. In his own way. Physically exerting his body to exhaust his mind, expel whatever remaining adrenaline was in his overtaxed system, coming down from his Double-O status and searching for James the only way he knew how. In this instance, not because of the Paris meet which was a simple exchange of information, but undoubtedly because of the Paris shootings.
Twenty four people had lost their lives. Men, women, children. Innocents whose only crime was being in the wrong place at the wrong time. The Universe playing its version of Russian Roulette - The Ruthless Edition.
"Apologies. I woke you," he said, between laboured breaths, not breaking his rhythm. Q obviously wasn't as deft at discreet surveillance as he thought.
Q pushed himself up. Normally some witty, cutting jibe would be poised on his lips, teasing out the banter between them until one or the other submitted. This situation required a different tactic. Q was rarely more grateful for his training in psychology as he was now, when it could be applied to his Double-O. Or any of the Double-Os for that matter. So he did the only thing he could do.
He stayed silent. And watched. And admired.
A memory surfaced.
"You can touch him, Arthur," Charles said, leaning close to his ear. "He's so beautiful," Arthur whispered, half to himself, tentatively reaching out to run his hands over the black shining coat. Only minutes before they had watched the Jaguar stalk around his pen restlessly, looking like the caged beast it was, instinct telling him something out of the ordinary was happening. Then he had been darted, ready to be transported to a protected park where he could roam relatively free. Arthur had gazed in fascination at the soft, smooth ripple of muscle beneath his coat, all that barely concealed power waiting to be released. As he ran his hands down along the side of the sleeping cat, he felt the humility of being afforded such a privilege swell in his chest. He looked up at Charles, who was smiling down at his crouched lover, caressing the genetic prelude to his favourite animal. The pre-domesticated feline that still lurked within the fluffy house cat. Arthur was in awe…
Nor was this version of Arthur Clifton any less in awe now than he was then. Bond carried on for about another 15 seconds before he faltered, slowly becoming aware of the attention being lavished upon him. The distraction of a silent Quartermaster was not something to which he was accustomed. It was, in fact, a little unnerving. He stopped completely and returned the stare.
"Are you alright, Arthur?" James asked softly, unmoving. The look wasn't one he was entirely accustomed to either. It went far beyond desire and lust.
He still held his tongue but rose from the bed and approached James. He took a hand in his and placed a soft kiss on his shoulder, pulling the agent back towards the bed, turning them both as they moved towards it, and guiding him down onto his back. The closing of his eyes and the accompanying sigh as James allowed himself to be gently manhandled told Arthur all he needed to know. James arms came up to wrap around his waist and he buried a heavy head in the nape of Arthur's neck. The beast was placated, wrapped in firm arms, sedated by gentle hands soothing his mind and chasing away the sound of weapons and the cries of the dead.