Harold Finch sat at his usual computer station, the screens around him showing data running in the background, surveillance from inside and outside the library, and one screen had page 56 from an old book he was currently digitalizing for Q on it. It wasn't a quick job to scan a book this old and brittle. He had to conserve it, take care not to crack the spine too much, and there was the matter of light or humidity damage.
Soft steps announced a visitor. He almost automatically knew who it was, even without checking the cameras. A hand slid over one shoulder blade to his shoulder, a strong thumb brushing over his neck.
"New hobby, Finch?" John Reese asked in his low, soft voice.
"Something our friends might find interesting as well."
Reese looked at the screen, the thumb never stopping the caress. It was just above the collar line of Finch's dress shirt, teasing and calming in one.
"You're sending him the whole book?"
"It's a helpful reference that can't be found anywhere else. And with Mr. Bond's resurrection under such… intense circumstances, they might need whatever I can find."
He leaned back and Reese's fingers slid through the short hair, lightly scratching over his scalp.
"How much did Q tell you?"
"So far? That Bond was shot and killed. His body was… burned."
The fingers stilled and Reese gave a soft hiss, so low it was barely audible. Finch was very attuned to the other man and he heard it.
"He came back, John. Alive and sane. I wouldn't have thought it possible for a human body to regenerate like this, even a preternatural like the phoenix. It opens a whole new can of worms. Apparently the regeneration overshot a little, taking a few years with it."
Reese made a non-committal noise. He stepped back and watched Finch work, briefly disappearing, only to come back with a cup of Sencha tea. The cipher took it gratefully and joined Reese a while later where the hellhound was studying the book titles on a shelf Finch had just lately added. All dealt with the supernatural or preternatural. Finch smiled a little, studying the long, lean lines in the dark suit. It was amazing to have this man as a partner, to know that Reese had given him his complete trust, that he had voluntarily chosen to bind himself to Finch. He was extremely loyal and that loyalty had become so much more.
Harold pushed the book in his hand into the correct slot and Reese leaned closer, seeking touch. Hellhounds were tactile when it came to their partners and Finch had been surprised just how much Reese sought him out. The casual lingering, the low banter, the smiles, the crinkle around his eyes, it was all so much more intense now.
John slipped an arm around his waist and Finch let him. Their more intimate relationship had developed slowly. Finch hadn't had anything close to a relationship in almost four years. For Reese it had been even longer. This was also new territory for them and despite the attraction and the pull they had toward each other, they went slow.
It didn't stop John from claiming a kiss now and then. Like right now.
Finch enjoyed it; very much.
"Any plans for tonight, Harold?" Reese asked, the soft rumble doing things to Finch that hadn't happened in a long, long time.
"Is this a proposal for a date, Mr. Reese?"
It got him a slow, lazy smile.
Well, then a date it was. They had no new number at the moment and Q's end of the email exchange was currently silent.
Reese seemed to read his mind because the smile grew. The next kiss was soft and gentle.
"Tonight then," he murmured.
x X XX xx X XX xxx xx X XX xx X XX xxx xx X XX xx X XX xxx xx X XX xx X XX xxx xx X XX xx X XX xxx xx X XX xx X XX xxx xx X XX xx X XX xxx xx X XX xx X XX xxx x
Forty-eight hours after suddenly arriving in Q's flat, all scars had disappeared.
Completely.
Q had studied the ruggedly handsome features and found no remains. Now, after the healing, the difference to before was no longer so tell-tale. Bond still looked a little tired, but they were working on that. Tiny lines around his eyes had disappeared, a few others, too, but the loss of years was no longer to pronounced. Five, maybe six years, Q mused.
Regeneration had taken that off his back, but why? Q's only theory was that because of the massive energy discharge that had revived him, because nothing like this had ever happened before, things had gone a little awry.
Q had checked him head to toe, much to Bond's amusement. Not a mark left.
The agent had been around Q almost every moment. He never let his technopath out of his sight. There had been a lot of touching, a lot of casual body contact. It was almost… like a normal couple, not two MI6 agents who happened to be preternaturals and who were very different from one another. Newly in love, normal people.
Q had to almost laugh.
They spent the day as couch potatoes, reading or watching TV. They ordered take-out, they took strolls along the embankment of the Thames, they actually did some touristy stuff, or had a drink at a pub.
So normal.
No MI6-related work. Nothing at all.
Bond's memories were fractured, though.
He also didn't really talk all that much. What he did was sleep. More than Q was used to, but apparently it was necessary for the speedy recovery as well. He had been on the move since his resurrection and there had been no time for him to lay down and just… just heal. Instinct had driven him on.
Now he was home and catching up on that. And with the ability to be around Q, to touch him physically, the healing rate had risen exponentially. Q no longer felt like his partner was a massive battery, charged to the max, and it told of where the energy had gone to: regeneration.
Bond also spoke very little. Q didn't mind. His partner wasn't a very talkative person on his best day, so rarely a word wasn't alarming.
x X XX xx
Q had started exercising his mind. He didn't type commands, he entered them mentally. He coded, he cleaned up his hard drives, he installed new programs, and he tweaked existing ones.
It was fun.
It was easy, oh so easy.
And it didn't hurt.
Sometimes Bond watched him with intense eyes that reflected that he understood exactly what his partner was doing.
He still didn't say anything.
Sometimes his fingers would ghost over Q's arm, his temple, and the cool presence of his anchor wrapped around him like a blanket, keeping him from harm without restraining his abilities.
Q was also working on the security of an island laptop he had created. It was inaccessible by normal means. It had no connection to the internet through wifi or cable. There wasn't even a port to slot a cable into. It was independent and walled off from hackers. The keys were coded to his fingers on top of that.
It contained Q's notes and knowledge concerning the phoenix.
Sitting back on the couch, the quartermaster added his recent discoveries and also Finch's book as a possible reference guide, though, like all of them there was no evidence that it had been gained from experience with a real phoenix, not simply rumors and tales.
The files were growing, but they weren't for anyone but Q himself. He might just hand them over to Finch for safekeeping, a kind of back-up, just in case, because Finch and Reese were about the only people he would trust with that knowledge.
x X XX x
Throughout the next hour Bond joined him on the couch. He switched on the TV and chose a news coverage, then leaned back and just watched.
Sometime later Bond leaned more against him. There was a neutral expression on his smooth features. Q was still unable to really comprehend how the rebirth had overshot since it had never happened before. He had tried to find a trigger, had tried to find a reason why. It all came back to the one theory that the massive physical damage had had the phoenix go through so much energy that it hadn't hit its mark.
Strangely, the older scars hadn't vanished. At least not all. The scar from where Moneypenny had shot him was gone, as was the rugged, uneven mark from the splinters he had removed himself after Patrice had tried to kill him.
He might never get an answer to all of those questions. Maybe he didn't really need them. James was back and that was the most important thing for Q.
Not long after joining him on the couch, his partner was asleep.
Q smiled at the blond head resting in his lap. He ran a gentle hand through the strands and looked down at the now peaceful features which still held a shadow of the hell he must have gone through.
They would get through this. He knew they would. Bond was a lot stronger than that. A phoenix's mind had to withstand resurrection. With a balance provided by a partner even the inevitable demise wasn't a danger any more.
And if the memories came back they would deal with it. Each in his own way and together as well.
*x X XX xx X XX xxx xx X XX xx X XX xxx xx X XX xx X XX xxx xx X XX xx X XX xxx xx X XX xx X XX xxx xx X XX xx X XX xxx xx X XX xx X XX xxx xx X XX xx X XX xxx xx X XX xx X XX xxx x
iHe didn't want to come back.
Coming back meant pain, and he didn't want to feel pain, but consciousness dragged remorselessly at him, pushing him further and further away from the numbing blackness.
Blinking, he opened his eyes, squinting into the twilight around him. For a second he was confused, not knowing where he was. All he knew was the pain, the fire burning through his whole body, the blazing agony of death and resurrection./i
Bond stood in the living room, staring out the windows over London, eyes silvery and almost unblinking. He felt the raging storm of the memories, of the phoenix hissing and snapping and dominant in his mind.
Memories of waking up. Fragments of his rebirth. Then there was nothing again.
It was a wave of upheaval, emotions that threatened to overwhelm his logical mind, and it frightened him. He had never been scared of remembering the pain of his death, of torture, physical or mental. Sure, he had never perished like that. He had died before, yes. Multiple times, but never like this.
Never with a memory loss like that.
And that loss frightened him more than any pain he might dream about. The black hole of nothingness after his revival was new. He had never not remembered.
Yes, it was scary.
And still, like far, far away, something teased at his mind. That moment of death, of rebirth, of pain and disorientation.
They would come back. They were already coming back…
"James?"
He had heard the quartermaster approach. Q wasn't trying to be stealthy. He had listened to the familiar sound and he briefly closed his eyes as slender but strong arms curled around his waist.
Bond pulled him in closer, brushing his lips over the soft skin on Q's right temple.
He didn't want to talk about it. Not now. Definitely not now. He was still trying to sort through what kept coming up now and then. The flashes were disjointed, but there were more and more.
Just two months ago Q had mentioned that the phoenix was evolving, that he was becoming more than he had been in his past. Because of the psychic link he had to his partner. Because he was able to come back from death without consuming part of his soul every single time. Because resurrection was no longer one step closer to a final death.
What had happened… it had been bigger than coming back from death within just four hours. It was so much bigger.
And it should be frightening.
It wasn't.
James Bond accepted it because that was what he was: a preternatural. His nature was the phoenix. This was what he was capable of, what he could bear without breaking down.
They relocated after a while.