He had gone for a run. His body needed to get back into shape, though he hadn't really lost anything. Rebirth had him back in peak condition. Still, he ran. It was a freeing experience, just letting his body go through the motions. It was still early and rather cool for mid-March. There had been talk about snow on the forecast last night. Not that he had an opinion about it. Bond would take weather as it came; nothing he could change about it anyway.
So he ran along the streets, the cold air biting into his skin. He was dressed warmly, a scarf wrapped around his neck, wearing gloves and a hat, and running kept him warm enough.
Q was still asleep. After last night, and earlier this morning, he had needed some more sleep.
Bond grinned.
Yes, it had been… intense. He liked intense. His partner liked intense. And for them it was a reaffirmation of what they were.
He stopped at a corner, bought a bottle of water from a street vendor, and walked over to the small park on the other side of the road, sipping the cool liquid.
Q was balm for his soul. Just having him close, talking to him, touching him… it all healed the fractures in his mind and soul. His memories were violent and dark, filled with pain and suffering and the fury that he had been bested. Rage at the busted mission. And another, different rage, hot and fiery, icy and cold, hungry and wanting.
It was the phoenix, the moment the monster had taken over and brought itself back to life.
The moment it had pushed past the barriers of humanity and civilization, had reacted on pure cold logic and survival instinct, mixed together with the inherent danger of its dark nature.
James was like a back seat driver then. He was that creature, but recollections were that of a spectator. The phoenix was his animal instinct, his primal hindbrain. It was pure energy and sharp claws and fangs and serrated edges. He wasn't a shape-changer. It all happened inside him and it was terrifying for anyone not accustomed to it.
He was that thing; he wasn't afraid of what he was, what he could do, how far he could be pushed. And this time he had been pushed past all and any limits. He had come back from physical destruction of such a level like it had never happened before.
Bullet to the brain? No problem.
Burned to a crisp? Apparently a bit more of a challenge, but not impossible.
He emptied the bottle.
He could live with those memories. He had lived with them all those years before now as well.
But something had been different this time. Something had been new. Throughout the resurrection, that long, dark time of pulling energy and fighting against death, he had felt it. A tiny spark, a known connection, and he had latched onto it and… pulled. The phoenix had buried its claws into the link to Q and drawn strength from the other man's presence.
Because it had been Q. He had felt him, he had known the technopath was there, and he had refused to tear his eyes away from that spark.
Q.
His partner.
The man he loved, the man the phoenix loved.
It had risen with a howl, all dark wings and razor sharp claws. It had blossomed, had bloomed, had been the firebird that had given the preternatural its name, and it had been glorious. It had been like euphoria; all-encompassing and mind-numbing, reviving every cell, bringing back life where there had been nothing but a dead husk.
Bond still felt those echoes and they had been… amazing. Breath-taking. He had felt the phoenix rejoice; had felt surges of absolute freedom, of lust and hunger, of rage and error, of devotion and love. He had experienced a whole range of emotions and the had left him drained and invigorated in one.
He threw away the empty bottle and stretched, feeling his muscles respond easily. The scars were all gone. The only thing that remained, that reminded him just how bad this had been, were his looks.
Well, not that it bothered him.
Bond approached a coffee shop that was already open and ordered himself a black, strong coffee. Nothing fancy. No milk, no sugar. He took the ceramic mug and walked over to a corner table that allowed a good view of the shop, the window, the world outside.
"Mr. Bond," the woman already sitting at the table greeted him with a smile and a nod.
There was a glass of tea in front of her. Chai Latte, he guessed.
He sat down.
"I'm not sure what surprises me more: your call or the meeting place." She gave him a once over. "Or maybe I should be surprised how good you look, despite the outfit."
He smirked. "Your choice."
"So what can I do for you, Mr. Bond?"
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Q had woken to an empty bed and an empty flat. It was just past six and the door log told him that James had left around five, probably for a run.
He wasn't worried.
The technopath made himself tea and toast, enjoying the silence.
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Bond came back around seven. Q had already showered, shaved and prepared coffee for his partner. The Double-Oh shot him a playful grin, then walked into the bathroom.
Q only chuckled.
Playful was good. Playful was very good.
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Q found James in the bedroom, in front of the full body mirror, gazing at his reflection. He was in his sweats since he had just come back from a jog. His expression was intense, studying himself, his looks, everything. Blunt fingers traced his features, along his jaw-line, his chin, up his cheeks and along his eyes.
No scars.
No trace of what had happened.
Nothing of the ordeal had remained.
That his face had lost a few lines was of no consequence. The last two days, with healing and recovering, sleeping if off and giving his body the necessary downtime it required, things had evened out. He wasn't shockingly younger. Five years. Maybe six. Apparently he had overshot by a little.
It almost had him laugh.
But it wasn't too obvious. It could be ascribed to a healthier lifestyle.
That had him smile humorlessly.
Q walked over to him, wrapping an arm around the narrow waist, enjoying the firm, solid presence. As solid physically as he was inside his soul.
Bond pressed a kiss against his temple.
"This time was different," he murmured.
Q stepped in front of him and looked into the well-known eyes, the familiar face.
"No, not different. You're still the same. The resurrection was different because you have never been in such a situation."
"Almost complete, physical annihilation," the agent murmured.
He looked at the young face, framed by unruly dark hair. Q was such a steady presence for him, such a total fact in his life.
"I remember, Q," he said softly.
"You do?"
"Yes. Everything."
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Q didn't really want him to remember dying like this, even if his steel ball of a mind could work with that darkness. It was the nature of the phoenix. Its ability was to come back from death and the death was absorbed and worked through. The human mind didn't suffer from the memories and a phoenix balanced by its partner didn't consume itself either.
But James did remember. And he told him. Even, neutral delivery of facts, of life and death, of survival.
"I wish I could tell you the outcome of your resurrection was normal, but I can't," Q finally said softly. "There is nothing I could find on this."
"I know."
"Personally… I've to say whatever happened, whether this is your natural ability or something that only came after the phoenix was balanced, I don't care. I'm glad you are back."
Bond smiled, his expression soft, warm, loving. "As am I. And I believe it has to do with the bond, Q. Without it I would have perished."
It might have been the one rebirth that could have destroyed the human mind and set the phoenix free, soaring and screaming and consuming itself. Bond would have been reborn just to die completely. There was no documentation on what a phoenix did when it lost part of itself because like everything, there were only rumors and myths.
"The anchoring effect goes both ways," the quartermaster agreed.
"This time it had a physical effect as well, one that will stand out."
Q shrugged. "Hardly visible. When are you at MI6 anyway, Bond? Voluntarily, that is."
Bond chuckled. "As little as possible. I'm not an office drone."
"Well, thank you for downgrading us office drones."
The phoenix pulled him close for a soft kiss. "It's a compliment for you, Q. You manage something I could never do."
"Right," Q snorted. "You know you have to be debriefed. M is rather patient right now, but that can change. He will know something bad happened the moment he sets his eyes on you."
"You already made an appointment," he stated.
Q smirked.
"You're bad, Q."
"I'm the best that ever happened to you, 007."
Bond studied him, expression almost unreadable, but the eyes were tell-tale. "Yes, you are," he finally said quietly.
"M expects us Friday afternoon. After office hours."
"Your planning?"
"My request on our behalf."
"It's Wednesday."
"That gives us some more time for you to recover completely."
"I'll need some help with that," Bond purred softly and pulled him in close.
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Gareth Mallory had been the head of MI6 for a little more than a year now and he had seen and heard almost all when it came to 007. Looking at the clean-shaven man impeccably dressed in the charcoal suit, the white dress shirt, the expensive leather shoes, Mallory revoked that statement.
James Bond looked… not like the man he had seen at the last debriefing. There was an energy to him, something strong and deadly, something that told M that the resurrection had been massive. It seemed to surround him like a shield, bleeding off now and then, seriously disturbing to anyone around him, though most people probably wouldn't know.
He moved like the predator he was, all sinewy grace and darkness. Bond sat down, posture easy as he leaned back in the chair, legs crossed, the perfectly fitted suit jacket falling open.
His bland expression had the head of MI6 tread carefully.
"What the bloody hell happened?" he demanded.
Well, not that carefully.
Q, looking his usual vintage hipster self, face just as carefully neutral, shrugged. "I can't say I know, sir. All we know is that 007 was killed and his abilities kicked in. Extremely."
M bit back on a sharp remark and just gritted his teeth. His gaze bore into the brown eyes of his quartermaster, meeting nothing but professional distance and composure. That alone told him how serious it had been.
Tanner had been there when Q had almost broken down, when Bond had apparently died, and it must have been a traumatic death. Never before had the technopath displayed such signs of distress and never before had he been this flustered. Not that he had truly shown it, but for the two men it had been clear to see.
M had kept a close eye on his department head and he had seen how rattled Q had been, how bad this must have been. Whatever had taken out Bond, whatever it had done to him, it must have been horrifying.
Now he was looking at James Bond and he knew it had been beyond horrifying. The man had resurrected, but something had triggered him, had set him back a few years, though it wasn't all too obvious.
Bond still looked deceptively calm and relaxed, but his expression was harder and even more distant. He wasn't happy being here, talking to M at this stage of his recovery, and Mallory knew that sending him into the field would be a fatal mistake. He was convinced that Q could control the phoenix, but letting it lose now would spell trouble and disaster in so many ways. The preternatural was too tense and coiled up to attack.
"I want to know everything," M said, leaning back in his chair, raising his eyebrows.
Bond smirked a little.
That didn't bode well.
tbc...