Life went on like this for three days. Three long, harrying days. Three days in which Q was functioning more and more on automatic. He went to work, he logged into the system, he did his regular job and he hunted for his partner. His headaches grew, his vision became blurry by the end of the day, and it was a chore to get home in one piece, without running into a car, a pedestrian, a wall.

His team was watching him with eagle eyes. In the beginning he wasn't really aware of how they slowly took work away from him, lightened his load. Charles, his second in command, was delegating work, accepted more responsibility, even though the head of Q branch was physically there to theoretically do his work. His mug was never empty and he found food on his desk.

Still, he didn't find a single trace of James.

Until the third day. There was something that could only be described as a shiver racing through him. Brief, with no lingering effects, but it had been there.

Q stilled in his work, confused, trying to catch that sensation again.

It was gone.

But for some reason it was a relief. Somehow it was a life sign.

He closed his eyes, exhaling slowly.

James is alive, he thought. He's alive.

And still it was painful.

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::I did some research:: Finch said that evening. ::You might be correct that you have changed the way you connected to one another. You and Mr. Bond have been under some stress lately. You were severely injured, then Bond was killed by Kara Stanton. Those events might have triggered this… closeness you feel::

Q silently chewed on his lip. He was lying back on the couch, gazing at the ceiling.

::And then there is the fact that you actually died, Q:: Finch added calmly.

Yes, that.

::You came back against all odds::

He sighed. ::I haven't really wanted to think about the implications:: he confessed.

::You might have to. The phoenix relies on you as its balance. It's a very deep connection you allowed it to have::

::Allowed?::

Finch chuckled. ::I believe the author of the book I found said that had you refused, the phoenix wouldn't have been able to take what it wanted. You made the first step, Q, not Bond. You allowed him in. You allowed him to shake off his chains and soar. You anchored yourself, but you balanced him. That you turned out to be his balancing counterpart was luck::

Q frowned. ::Book?::

Finch sounded amused. ::Nothing that has been digitalized yet. The first edition of Marks of Preternatural Times. Very old and very… fantastic in some regards. Mr. Reese got a good laugh out of the cerberus section::

Q laughed softly. ::And there is something on the phoenix?::

::Yes. I'll see if I can give you a good digital rendition soon. It's a rather delicate book, old and brittle. I didn't even realize I still had it. What it does talk about is that the phoenix grows stronger with each resurrection and unless balanced and able to focus on its own anchor, it one day tears apart the human soul. It is a truly vicious circle. Such a powerful preternatural is chained down by its own gain in strength, then one day surrenders to the energy inside him; it's what brings him back and finally kills him because the human body can't take it any more. And in a way the preternatural mind can't either. The phoenix needs a partner strong enough to control it. If anchored, it will grow stronger, too, but in a different way. You almost literally have the phoenix's claws in your soul, Q::

Yes, he had noticed that already. This wasn't simply a bond that might be cut through with a knife. It was a complicated web that bound them together.

::I know:: he said softly.

::And since Mr. Bond is so very much aware of you, you can touch him, too. What you felt might have been his death and his resurrection::

::I'm frightened by the long time period between both sensations, Finch:: he confessed, voice soft, filled with the worry and fear he still experienced.

::Yes, that is… terrifying.::

::Anything on that in your book?:: he wondered aloud.

::Only speculations on the balanced phoenix::

Q sat up. ::Which are?::

::The author never met a phoenix, Q. They are very much myths, even today. He only published what he heard in old wives tales, campfire spook stories and read in even older books::

::Finch. Spill it::

::Theoretically a phoenix should be able to come back after almost any kind of death. A balanced phoenix might always come back::

Q froze, mouth hanging open. He worked his jaw, but only a wheeze came out.

::There is mention that the dark soul that brings back the human body won't consume the mind because of the balance:: Finch went on, voice even, calm and serious. ::It is food for thought. If what you feel is any indication, Mr. Bond perished terribly, probably in a way that took such a long time to recover::

::Crap:: Q only managed.

::Quite appropriate::

Q's mind was racing. Of course, it was all just speculation due to the rare nature and the fact that no living phoenix had ever been directly interviewed. There were dozens of names in every book as to who might have been a phoenix. Nothing had ever been proven.

And Bond had no idea what he was capable of either.

::Q?::

::I… That's… rather hard to… digest…::

::I believe so, too. If it's true::

He closed his eyes, feeling his headache strengthen. ::Thank you, Finch:: he murmured.

::Call when you need to, Q:. was the soft offer.

And he would. But right now he logged off, feeling some relief as the pressure behind his eyes eased.

Was it possible? Could a phoenix come back from more than poisonings, bullet wounds, torn out throats? What if the body was torn to pieces? What if there were only bones left?

Q swallowed, pushing the thoughts away. He couldn't think about that right now because it called up images of James and he didn't want to connect them.

But if a phoenix was capable to defying even such odds… if it clawed its way back to life… because it was balanced and soaring and free, realizing its full powers without the drawback of losing its mind and soul…

"Crap," he whispered.

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Q's flat didn't look like that of a typical nerd. It didn't really spell 'computer geek' the moment you entered. It was dark hardwood floors, white walls, comfortable furniture and high windows. He had landscape photography on the walls, but there weren't myriads of computer parts littering every flat surface, nor dozens of laptops, netbooks or tablets.

Located strategically near the new MI6 and close to all amenities he might consider needing, the place was a model of security and functionality, and also a bit bigger than a single man should need it to be. Q had made sure he was safe here, that no one could simply break in and take what they wanted. Only he and Bond had the key code to the door, which was also secured with biometric scanners. It wouldn't do to just copy Q's or Bond's fingerprints either.

Because of that, and because Q was technopathically linked to his private network, knew who came and went, had a direct line into the discrete security cameras all over the building and outside, he usually knew who came to visit. Mail, delivery, a neighbor. Or Bond.

Well, if his partner didn't want to be seen, he wouldn't be – and Q had no idea how he moved like the proverbial invisible man.

So sometimes it came as a surprise.

Like right now.

More like a shock, actually.

"Shit," Q whispered, staring at the blond man. "Shit, shit, shit."

Not exactly a warm welcome, but it was the first and only thing that ran through his head.

James Bond was back. In one piece.

Mostly.

Well, everything was there, Q thought faintly. Two arms, two legs, all ten fingers, hopefully all toes. His eyes, his ears, nose and mouth. Nothing missing.

But the signs were there as well.

Massive signs that something terrible had happened.

Something fatal.

And somehow Bond had still made it here. Back home.

The ruggedly handsome face showed scarring on one side. Scars that were healing and fading and must have been a terrible, terrible wound… how long ago? When had Bond died so violently? And why did it look like a burn scar?

His hands… the same. Burn scars. Running up his forearms.

Q didn't really want to contemplate what was hidden underneath the surprisingly clean and fitting clothes. Leisurely clothes, yes, but ones that hadn't been pulled out of a garbage bin.

Maybe Bond had broken into a second-hand-store or taken them from a store, Q thought, feeling disconnected from reality.

But that was secondary, though his overwhelmed mind was still pondering it.

What was primary was the fact that James Bond, his missing agent and partner, was in Q's flat, alive, showing severe signs of a very violent rebirth… and so many things were off with his appearance that went beyond the clothes.

He looked… different. Q had no other word for it. Not the way he had after they had finally found their balance, when the phoenix had latched onto Q as its counterpart and soared from there.

No.

This was… real. This wasn't a smoothing of lines and more life in the blue eyes, more spirit, more… everything.

This was physical. Not too much time, but something had removed at least five to six years. Q recalled the image he had seen on his file, the first day working for the Double-Oh section. That was him.

"Bond?" he asked.

The wintery eyes were on him, sharp and somehow alien. They showed a clear sheen of silver. There was the phoenix and not much else. It was the predator, sizing up its prey, deciding whether to attack or ignore.

Q felt no fear.

Bond had never hurt him and he was convinced he never would. He was probably the only living, breathing being in the world who could look the phoenix in the eyes and not run screaming in terror at the violence and blood and death the gaze promised.

"007? James?"

It got him a blink. Then Bond moved, lithe, soundless, each movement measured, the trained body showing even throughout the recovery. He was suddenly right there, those inhuman eyes tracking over Q's features.

Q didn't step back. He simply faced the primal thing that had taken a hold of Bond, challenged it as he did on a daily basis, refusing to submit. He never submitted. He wasn't that kind of person and it was what made them so perfect together. He met the dominant predator and put it back into its place without endangering its alpha status. He walked a fine line along a razor-sharp edge, and he did it without a safety net.

Up close he saw the smooth skin that had already healed. Not a scar on it. Then there was the patch of fading burns that must have been a lot worse. He reached out without truly thinking about it, sliding explorative fingers across the jaw line, marveling at the warmth and life.

The sharp eyes watched him, then suddenly closed and Bond leaned into the caress. A soft sigh escaped his lips and Q smiled to himself.

"James?"

It got him a wordless rumble.

"I'm not going to ask how you got back and when, or what happened," Q said softly. "I only ask that you to let me see what happened to you."

The pale blue eyes snapped open, dangerous and fiery within their icy depths. Q weathered the storm, let it wash over him. He was the rock in the stormy sea, not the little lifeboat about to be turned over and sink. He wouldn't be pushed away.

"Please."

Q kept up the caress of the smooth features, the younger features, a man who looked like the day he had become the agent with the license to kill. Years ago, when M had hand-picked him for this special department.

Before that fateful mission in Venice.

Something terrifying had happened to Bond and it had resulted in this…

Q was afraid to think of what it might have been. Rebirth and regeneration had never been like this before.

So what had happened? Was it matter of incomplete healing? But Q felt the energy in his partner, like a living, breathing thing. It flexed and snapped and sparked through every cell.

He carefully wrapped a hand around the strong wrist and tugged. He was pleasantly surprised when James followed him, though the sharp eyes never left him. He led him to the bedroom and there was no hesitation. The older man gazed at the bed, then at Q, and there was hunger in those wintery eyes. A hunger that wasn't purely sexual. It was… for something only Q could give.

And Q was very ready to give it, but right now he needed to assess his partner's physical state. He knew that the trauma sat deep, that the silence was tell-tale, though this was far from bad. Bad would have been a feral phoenix, hissing and snapping at everyone and everything. James wouldn't have made it back in that condition anyway.

This, right now, was a quiet intelligence watching him. Waiting, assessing, keeping the monster under control. It was the agent, falling back on his training to survive this experience, whatever it had been, whatever had happened to him.

Q almost absent-mindedly locked down the flat through his private network, sent an email to Tanner and one to M, telling them he might be indisposed for the next few days, that Bond was back, that yes, they would come in for a debrief, but right now he had to handle a matter that was of a preternatural nature.

He didn't actually mention the preternatural part, but he formulated it in a way that neither man could mistake.

Then he signed off, turned on all the alarms, and concentrated only on his partner.

Undressing Bond was not even close to erotic. It was more a visual assessment as to what had happened to the man, and looking at the injuries, the burn wounds still healing and probably more painful than Bond let on, Q felt something inside of him keen softly. This had been bad; still was. If this was the state of his agent now, Q didn't really want to think about the initial injuries, what they had looked like.

Burns. All over his body and just now fading into something from a not so far past.

Third degree at least.

Maybe…

He swallowed, refusing to think the worst, but it persisted.

"What happened to you?" he whispered, fingers ghosting over the rough scars on Bond's abdomen.

Bond caught his hand, holding it firmly but not painfully, and pulled him in close.

Q went.

James buried his face against Q's neck and there was a tremor running through the strong form. The quartermaster let him hold him, let him stay like this. He was nearly fully naked, Q fully clothed, and the technopath couldn't care less.

Go with the flow.

Take his cues from Bond.

When the tremors subsided a little he carefully, experimentally pushed him toward the bed. Meeting no resistance had Q become bolder and lead again.

It was so easy to lay back and have Bond drape himself over Q, a semi-possessive arm around his waist, and Q picked up a gentle caress over the blond strands of hair, scratching his blunt nails against the scalp. James made a soft noise of contentment.

And suddenly there was this presence, this sure and heavy weight against Q's very being. His partner. His phoenix. Over the bond. A fact in his life. And that fact had settled into the slot where he had felt nothing but darkness and emptiness these past days. A piece of Q that was finally back.

It was amazing and no one would ever be able to understand how simple it was, how welcome, how needed. His own mind was suddenly calmer. He was more in control, though he had never thought he had truly lost it.

He hadn't zoned. He hadn't been drawn to shiny new programs or codes or new viruses. He hadn't slipped.

And still… It had been so hard lately. It had been painful, triggering headaches and once or twice a migraine. He had functioned on automatic. He had continued and he had forced himself to work, but the technopath knew it wouldn't have taken more than a month or two until he would have lost himself, zoned and maybe not made it back.

Now he was back. His anchor.

Bond's fingers clenched into his side and he buried his head against Q's neck, warm and so very real.

What happened to you? Q thought, taking in the multiple signs of physical abuse. And how?

He didn't need to ask about the when in particular. Q had been privy to the moment of death in a unique way.

Bond wasn't talking, but right now it wasn't required. What his partner needed was… Q. Just his presence, the closeness, and nothing else. The younger man was very ready to give it without question. He needed his agent just as badly.

tbc...