He should have known. Sit down two geek tech heads and the topic of conversation became computers. Or a variation thereof. Q was no different and he and Finch had a lot to talk about. Not just tech, though. There was also the preternatural side of their existence and Bond's resurrection that had resulted in so many small and not so small changes.
The Grand was a nice little restaurant, the food was very good, and the secluded seating arrangement assured privacy. No one was listening in and the security cameras would not pick them up. His technopath had taken care of that.
Reese looked amused, one eyebrow rising at the rather animated conversation between their two handlers.
"I should have known," he remarked quietly.
"Probably."
They finally drifted over to the bar, leaving the two men to discuss whatever the current topic was.
::It's you:: Q told him through the ear piece Bond had insisted on wearing when he muttered the question, too low for anyone to hear.
Well, anyone but a hellhound, who had very good ears. Reese was giving him a tiny smile.
"Beer?" the former CIA agent asked.
Bond nodded. He wouldn't listen in on the discussion and he was sure Q had tuned him out as well, disconnecting from the earpiece.
Reese regarded him silently, eyes alert, features neutral. Bond just sipped his beer, quirking an eyebrow.
They were men of few words.
x X XX xx X XX xxx xx X XX xx X XX xxx xx X XX xx
Finch gave Q an amused look and the technopath grimaced. "Habit."
"I suppose it is."
"Just like I suppose Mr. Reese is wearing his own."
"Habit," Finch agreed. He stirred his coffee. "How have you two fared?"
It was an intimate question in so many ways, but no more than so many had been before. Since their first meeting the relationship between the two very unlikely handler-agent teams had developed in leaps. Q was still astounded by it all and he knew Finch wasn't someone to trust easily either.
But the CIA case, the death of Kara Stanton, the truth about Bond and Q himself, it had all conspired to forge a foundation between them that had by now surpassed that early state of wary truce and blossomed into something more. Q still didn't know everything he wished about Harold Finch, aside from the fact that he was a billionaire, didn't exist in the world of the living, was a preternatural, and that his network of lives and aliases was astounding. Only one thing was a common denominator: he was always Harold.
"It appears that these events didn't have an adverse effect," Q now replied. "Aside from slightly altered appearances."
Finch smiled briefly. "I see."
"I'm just…leery of the next time."
"Which will happen."
Q shrugged. "Of course. It's him. It's how he lives and acts. You can't stop the phoenix from taking risks, from wanting the thrill. Death is the ultimate thrill for it. I know it's hard for anyone to understand how he can so willingly give his life, but it's the nature of the beast. It's what destroys a phoenix so quickly. It wants what ultimately annihilates it." Q was silent for a moment. "In the book you scanned for me the author theorizes about that."
Finch nodded. "I read about it. The phoenix eventually ends its own life, because it can't exist without a bonded partner to keep it sane. It's the only solution for a cursed existence. The book was written in a time when preternaturals were seen as either gifted or cursed."
"They still are. I would just never call it a curse. The phoenix controls its own life, down to the very last breath when it surrenders to the inevitable before insanity."
"Probably the best theory I've read anywhere," Finch agreed. "Mr. Bond has found you. Just in time, I might say."
Q didn't want to think about losing the man he was bound to. He glanced over at the bar, the two so very alike men who were their agents sharing another beer and talking amiably.
"He has grown stronger," Finch could be heard. "To come back from physical destruction takes a lot. A lot of energy."
Q refused to blush. "Yes. A lot."
Finch grinned knowingly and the quartermaster almost rolled his eyes.
"I always knew, though," he added. "I feel him with me, Harold. I feel his pull when he gets me out of an accidental zone-out. I can't describe it. He's there. A solid weight, a fact."
Finch regarded him silently. "I think I understand. And from what I gleaned from the hours spent reading all those ancient books I believe he couldn't have done what he did without the anchor line to you. You made him this powerful, Kian."
Q regarded the other man, aware that Finch had never addressed him with his first name before. It was part of his alias, Kian Whittmore, used when he was interacting with people outside of MI6, and like Finch's, part of it was true.
He smiled. "Like he gave me stability and sanity."
Finch smiled back and raised the mug of coffee to sip from it.
"You haven't taken that leap of faith yet," Q added, tilting his head a little, lips lifting into a small smile.
Finch set down the mug, fingers curling around it. "I have taken more leaps than I ever expected, Mr. Whittmore. Some of them quite frightening."
"This isn't a case."
"Yes. And no. It's a difficult situation."
"Not so difficult, really. You can work better with him as a connector. You can rely on Mr. Reese. You already did before. You trust him, Harold. This isn't more than you asked of yourself before."
"Like I said: yes and no."
Q studied the older man and he knew the two men had taken slow steps into this new variation of their partnership. He also knew that Reese was the most patient of agents in that regard, that he would wait for Finch to make up his mind and not push him. His loyalty was without question; his trust was complete. Finch had already let go in some regard, but to work with his preternatural ability as he had before, to touch The Machine again and maybe crack the door open a little more, he needed Reese in a different way.
Q still didn't know what had happened to Finch, or to Harold Wren, or to whoever he might have been at the time. He had been Harold, but the last name varied. Q had come to understand that Finch was just one of the many aliases this man possessed and had lived under for all his life. He was insanely rich, he owed not just a hotel or an insurance company or software developers, he was more like a spider in a web, invisible and easily mistaken for something else. He controlled assets that could buy small countries.
"It takes time," Finch now said slowly.
Q nodded. His gaze flitted over to Bond. Sometimes things had to run their way. For Finch, every step was a major leap. He had to open up his world, maybe even all of himself, and he had to trust in Reese as completely as the other man already did in the cipher.
Their conversation drifted through topics, sometimes brushing over The Machine, but nothing concrete. In the end they paid and left The Grand.
It was just past midnight and Q felt pleasantly full, slightly more warm than he should be after two glasses of wine, and relaxed.
"Enjoy your vacation," Reese remarked, a tiny smile on his lips.
Bond's expression was one of carefully veiled amusement, but it was clear he could read between the lines. Reese followed as Finch limped off toward a cab he had hailed. A silent, protective shadow.
x X XX xx X XX xxx xx X XX xx X XX xxx xx X XX xx
"I believe they have come a long way," Q remarked as they walked through the streets, the cold air nipping at their skin.
The East Coast was still under the spell of winter. More snow had been announced for the next three days, but since it was their vacation, Q didn't mind. Now and then flakes drifted from the sky, but nothing stayed on the streets just yet.
Bond shot him an amused look. "Got more intimate intel, Q?"
He gave him a narrow-eyed glare. "I'd never pry, 007."
"Of course not."
"But I know Finch has taken a chance on Reese and Reese was ready to place more than just his trust in his handler. If I understood the cryptic remarks correctly, he has bound himself to Finch."
"Good."
They continued their walk, hands stuffed into their coats. Q had wrapped a thick, warm scarf around his neck.
x X XX xx X XX xxx xx X XX xx X XX xxx xx X XX xxx X XX xx X XX xxx xx X XX xx X XX xxx xx X XX xxx X XX xx X XX xxx xx X XX xx X XX xxx xx X XX xxx X XX xx X XX xxx xx X XX xx X XX xxx xx X XX xxx X XX xx X XX x
John Reese gazed at the sleeping man with him in bed. Harold was dressed in dark green pajamas that had probably cost more than the wardrobe Reese preferred throughout his daily adventures. The glasses were off, carefully folded and sitting on the nightstand. He looked peaceful, relaxed, trusting.
Reese smiled softly.
Nothing had happened tonight, aside from a very good dinner, entertaining and very interesting company, and slow, intense kissing.
Slow.
It was what they did in their more personal relationship and it served him just as well. John's last relationship had ended in death; Finch's in his own, faked demise. Two damaged men with injured souls, trying to forge something together.
His smile grew and he lay down, close enough to feel the body heat of the other man. His preternatural side was happy. He was happy. It felt normal to belong here, to be here, without demands or expectations. He was a hellhound, a guardian and protector, and he had willingly bound himself for life to this special person.
He had made the right choice.
Harold had been his second chance. He had taken it and it had been the right decision.
His second chance, his new life. His partner.
Reese closed his eyes, feeling his body and mind relax. He let himself doze off into sleep.
x X XX xx X XX xxx xx X XX xx X XX xxx xx X XX xxx X XX xx X XX xxx xx X XX xx X XX xxx xx X XX xxx X XX xx X XX xxx xx X XX xx X XX xxx xx X XX xxx X XX xx X XX xxx xx X XX xx X XX xxx xx X XX xx
Ten days in New York went by faster than Q would have expected. He and Bond did some touristy stuff, but they also slid into two cases Reese and Finch were handling. When another number came up, Bond just shrugged and took it on himself. Q went with the flow, logged himself into the network, and guided his partner through the safe-keeping of a young girl working in a coffee shop, who had come up as the next person of interest.
By the end of the first week they had saved the girl, eliminated the jealous ex-boyfriend, and had been introduced to Detectives Carter and Fusco. Carter had just sighed.
"You're that MI6 agent, aren't you? The one who asked for John a while back."
Bond had simply shrugged.
"And now you're working with him? How did that happen?"
"Coincidence."
Carter had looked far from believing that. Q couldn't fault her, but he was highly amused by her grudging acceptance of another interloper.
"Well, that was fun," Bond proclaimed when he came home, looking a bit disheveled from his altercation with their target, though he wasn't bleeding. A big plus, Q mused, when it came to the phoenix.
And he looked very much alive. Very. The energy was almost palpable.
This was what the preternatural side wanted, This was the kind of kick it needed. The thrill, the danger, the adrenaline rush. James Bond would never be anyone else, would never be able to do a nine-to-five deskjob.
"Finch sends his thanks for the assist," Q now said, watching James undress.
There was a bruise over the left ribcage that looked painful, and one on his upper left thigh where he had been kicked. Nothing new. And, well, truly no blood.
"New number, Q?" Bond asked, eyes gleaming with the still abating rush.
"No. They're wrapping up theirs. We have a free evening."
Bond smiled. "Too bad."
"I knew you would find a normal vacation boring."
"Finch offered, you know."
Q leaned back. "I'm aware of it."
"It's tempting."
"For vacations?" he teased.
Bond chuckled. "Maybe."
"Or are you planning a change in careers, Mr. Bond?"
The Double-Oh draped his shirt over the chair. The blue eyes were filled with an energy that told of the fun he had had, the remnants of the rush of the chase.
"Not yet."
"Good. I was hoping not to set the record for the youngest quartermaster of MI6 history and the one who left after the shortest time."
Bond smiled and walked over to him, pulling him close, kissing his neck affectionately. "They wouldn't be able to function without you."
"Only too true."
"And Finch's offer has no due date."
"Good."
"It's an option."
A good one. One that gave them a way out, but knowing Bond it might not be enough. Then again… He had read what Finch and Reese had been handling, and there were the kicks and thrills and the adrenaline the phoenix needed, coupled with violence and death sometimes.
"An option," Q murmured.
tbc...