Thank you for your patience! This is not an abandoned fic. I would never post anything I won't finish, even if I need a week between updates! I'm also not yet done with this series :P

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The Macivraes lived a few miles outside of town, almost at the bay. It was an old farm house, passed down from generation to generation, and every new generation had added to what had once been a very small family home. Just a kitchen with an open fire, a tiny bedroom, an equally tiny room for possible children, and an attic. The very first Macivraes to live here had probably sheltered their lifestock in here throughout winter, using the warmth of the animals to keep warm themselves.

Today the original farm house had been integrated into a new home that was several times its original size, still had an open fire place, but also central heating, running water, and satellite TV.

Q had looked around, impressed, trying not to give in to the temptation to snoop technopathically. Skyfall wasn't far from here. If one squinted, it was a dot in the distance.

It was where James's eyes had gone almost automatically, tension lines around his mouth and eyes. Q hadn't called him on it, had simply left him to his musings as Bond and Ewan Macivrae started talking about this and that.

Q looked out over the landscape, mug of steaming hot tea in hand, enjoying the fresh air, the smell of rain in the distance, the sharp, nipping wind out here, despite the fact that it was early summer. At least according to the calendar. The hills were dotted with more green, interspersed by the white spots that told of sheep grazing, the occasional black one among them. The clouds were riding high in the sky, blue leaking through here or there.

The waves coming in smelled of salt and algae, their currents strong and dangerous. The bay wasn't a place to sunbathe or swim; it was wild and untamed, like so many places up here.

Q liked it.

He had been to Skyfall, had seen the rough beauty paired with the desolation, the loneliness that didn't feel depressing to him at all. He had also witnessed the remnants of Bond's old home and the jagged teeth of the old, burned out lodge, had been a reminder of the tragedy that had happened there over the past three decades.

Still, he enjoyed this place more than his partner did. He, the computer geek, the scientist and engineer, the man who spent most of his time cooped up in front of dozens of screens, calling information from all over the world.

Maybe it was the quiet.

Out here, there was little that attacked his technopathic mind. Out here he could lower his shields without the danger of an overload. It was a place where unanchored technopaths might seek refuge. To his knowledge, he was the only functional one of those known to the world. The others were hiding in such remote places like the Scottish northernmost areas.

"Deep thoughts."

He turned and glanced at the woman at his side, smiling a little. "Not really. It's… peaceful."

Moira tilted her head a little. "Not many enjoy such peace."

"You mean those who come from the cities, like me and James."

She smiled. "Yes. He isn't happy here."

"Bad memories."

The hecate nodded. "I know his family history. The Bonds were known throughout the area, were friends to the clans that shared their land with them. Adam was one of the last to uphold treaties, the alliances, knew what was happening around him and accepted the supernatural. He wasn't like us, but he was open-minded. No one knew or realized his son was preternatural."

"Adam Bond never did either. And James didn't until he first died," Q said bluntly.

She silently sipped at her own tea. "He is a very powerful soul, Kieran. Very. He feels like a shape-changer, all that energy so tightly wound through his very core. It's fused into him like I have never seen before. Every cell, every fraction of his soul… Nuckelavee are strong supernaturals and I know how they feel. It's nothing that can be met by a werewolf or windiga." At Q's quizzical look, she added, "You might know them as wendigo."

"Ah."

"Very shy and very much forest bound. Territorial and ferocious when challenged. Few live among humans because of that. And they are very much extinct since they also never leave their territory, which is the Appalachian region."

"Also the source of many nightmarish tales."

She shrugged. "I've only ever met one when I was very young. Their energy is amazing, all-encompassing, wild, but your partner's exceeds even that."

She looked almost frightened by it. Q didn't really want to label her expression, so he simply thought of it as 'disturbed'.

"A phoenix draws energy for its resurrection. It has to come from somewhere," he said placidly.

"From within him, Kieran. And that core is hell to be close to." Moira looked almost sheepish, mixed with apologetic. "It might be the source of our… mutual dislike. My reactions to him are instinctive. His reaction to my words was the same."

"I believe you are the only one to ever hit all of his buttons right from the start," Q told her, amusement tingeing his voice. "I've never seen him this riled up, trying to maintain control, within five minutes of meeting someone."

"You weren't there for the first round," she said dryly.

"I have a very good idea what it might have been like."

The waves crashed loudly against the beach, the large pebbles making the water almost sing as it retreated to gather its forces for the next rush. Q emptied his cup, but he felt no inclination to walk back to the house. James and Ewan were back there, talking or whatever they were doing. Q wanted some more time with Moira.

"You don't seem to suffer any ill effects from having such a nightmarish, hungering presence bound to you. I would have thought him to be an overwhelming, all-consuming monster. When he told us that he is counter-balanced, that he had found someone to keep him from stepping over the edge, I couldn't imagine this person to remain sane."

No, Moira Macivrae wasn't someone to beat around the bush or choose her words.

"Yet here you are," she added, sounding slightly amused.

"Yes, here I am." He met the green eyes evenly. "The connection between us wouldn't have worked if we weren't compatible. The phoenix can't claim an unwilling mate and anchor. Nor would I be able to use him as my anchor to stay sane without a perfect connection. It can't overwhelm me, consume me, because I am needed. I'm not there to be conquered. I'm there to help. It's a mutual link, giving both of us what we need without destroying the other, without crippling either side. We're equal partners, Moira."

"I seriously doubted that when he told Ewan and myself who and what he was, why he had to get back to you." She studied him for a heartbeat. "Not any more. I understand a little about bonds, Kieran. It's what sustains nuckelavee and hecate alike. We live in a strange kind of symbiosis, built on compatibility. Neither could claim the other without that compatibility and the right emotions. It seems Nature has seen to it that a supernatural creature that can only be born as a male and a preternatural creature that can only be born as a female have the ability to procreate and insure the survival of both species since the beginning of Time."

"What James and I have isn't for procreation."

She laughed. "No, it isn't. It's also not because he's a phoenix and you are a technopath. I understand that now. You simply fit. Hard to understand, difficult to digest, but I sense the result. Your connection is… it's nothing I've ever seen within my kind's."

"There have been… events… that changed what we had started out with," Q said carefully.

"Which you can't talk about," Moira stated.

"Not in detail."

"Because of what you do for a living."

He nodded. "What I can tell you is that he died, was burned after death and left in a very bad state, and he came back. He regenerated with a massive amount of energy – which I felt."

She sucked air through her teeth, green eyes wide with surprise.

"That," the hecate said slowly, "would explain his reaction to what happened to you while Mr. Bond was here."

"Most likely. There is no reference material for me to search through. Little is known about the phoenix to begin with and those scraps are by now fast outdated."

She stared out over the sea. "Everything starts at some point. Sometimes you have to be the first."

Q chuckled. "I'd prefer not to be. I have quite enough on my hands without surprises around every bend."

"I can't help you, Kieran, because out here a phoenix never existed before. We have our own folk tales about some of the more exotic and rare variations of the preter- and supernatural world. As an evolutionary biologist I've never read much about Mr. Bond's abilities either. I only know what I feel and it's very dark, violent, out for blood, and never quiet." Her eyes met his and she quirked a smile. "Except around you. You calm that horrifying thing in his soul. Easily. Without touch, without a word."

Q blinked, slightly stunned.

"Some might say it's on a leash, but not me. Nothing this primordial can ever be shackled or leashed or tamed. It is a creature that has an immense power and consumes itself in the end, taking the human soul with it. It terrifies me to think of what he is capable of, seeing how strong he is, how terrible, how dark. It terrifies me even more to know how long he survived, pulling himself back from the inevitable brink, until he met you. It speaks of a strength that was already inhuman and now…?"

She was scared of Bond, Q realized. She could see the phoenix, could imagine what it would be like unshielded, what Q had so often met and faced and never backed away from. He would never be able to describe to anyone what it was like, the abyss, the vortex, the fire and the ice and force of nature that was this creature. All hidden under the deceptively fragile human shell.

It wasn't scary. It had never been scary. He faced the vortex, knowing it would never harm him. He had felt the claws in his soul, had felt it claim him, and there had never been any pain or discomfort.

"You're a very strong man, Kieran," Moira added, smiling. "To look at this and not run screaming."

"We matched," he reminded her. "We were psychically linked before we even realized it. And it wasn't without a fight from either side. I have never been afraid of him. I never felt fear or terror, and I looked at the phoenix without its shields. It's… mine," he stumbled over the last word.

Her smile was gentle, knowing. "He's yours," she agreed. And the physical attraction helps." Laughter edged into her voice.

Q chuckled. "Yes. Immensely."

She looked over her shoulder and Q followed her lead. He found the familiar shape of his partner silhouetted against the hills.

"He needs you," Moira said softly.

"It's mutual."

She smiled, still soft, so very unlike the challenging air she had around Bond, something that was an automatic reaction to his approach to her.

Instincts, Q mused. Sometimes they were a pain in the butt.

Moira took her leave, heading back to the house, as Bond walked over to them, neither really looking at the other. Q wanted to laugh out loud at the bristling phoenix.

"It's like watching a kindergarten fight over who gets to play with the favorite toy," he teased his partner.

The wintery eyes showed an edge of fury. Bond was trying to keep himself under control, but the possessive notion was there.

"You know she isn't competition nor an enemy, but you still react to her. She does just the same," Q went on. "Hecate aren't exactly a phoenix's best friend."

"I believe it's only this one," he growled, sounding more intense than Q would have thought.

There hadn't even been a physical confrontation, just Moira spending some time with Q, then walking past him. It wasn't jealousy, the technopath decided. It was something very much different. Something grating on the phoenix's nerves, fraying his control at the edges, rubbing him raw.

He felt the silky darkness of the phoenix at the edge of his mind. It was more pronounced than before.

Yes, he reacted to her. Badly.

"Play nice, James."

Bond stood next to him, face slipping back into a neutral mask, hands stuffed into the pockets of his jacket. The tension wasn't abating, though. He was thrumming with it.

"She… rubs me the wrong way," he finally said, voice low and gritty.

Q nodded. "Duly noted. Right from the start, actually. Think of it as a training exercise."

It got him a dark look.

"You have to control your reactions, 007. She's not the only hecate in the world and unless we can exclude the preternatural status as the sole trigger, you will be very much vulnerable. Like an exposed nerve."

"Work with the pain," he growled. "Learn to control it."

"Exactly. It's an exercise in control."

Bond shot him a little smirk. "So you won't agree to leaving right away?" he teased.

"No," was the firm answer and Q's brows lowered into an annoyed frown. "We came here for a reason and I doubt you're done yet. When is the meet and greet?"

"Clan dinner tonight."

Q suddenly felt the light switch clicking on. "And nuckelavee are mostly paired with hecate. Ah. That will be interesting indeed."

"It will be a bloody nightmare."

"You are a bloody nightmare, Bond. They are perfectly friendly hosts and the clan you leased your considerable plot of land to."

The Double-Oh only raised his brows, then started to walk away, along the edge of the cliff that led to the bay, away from the house. Q shook his head.

"Walk it off," he sighed. "I'll see what our hosts have planned."

Bond didn't respond, though Q was sure he had heard him. He went back to the house, smiling to himself.

It would be a very interesting weekend for sure.

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The night had been pleasant, the morning even more so. Reese was a sensual man, a very tactile person, and he liked just being close. Finch didn't mind the closeness. John enjoyed Harold touching him, caressing him, hands on his skin without really trying to arouse.

Just touch.

And he liked to reciprocate.

It was such a contradiction to the violence this man lived and breathed, how he enjoyed a fight, how he thrived in battle. Finch usually only heard the confrontations, rarely saw them, but the few times he had witnessed John Reese in action, he had seen the enjoyment. He had seen the light in those blue eyes change, the smile on his lips, cold and calculating, tinged with the thrill he experienced. He had seen the true nature of the hellhound as a fighter, as a warrior, and always as a protector.

That was the man he shared close quarters with.

That was the man he was attracted to, who he trusted, who he had become intimate with.

Lying together, dozing, doing nothing but enjoy the closeness, was new to Finch. He had been with Grace, had enjoyed her soft curves and warm touch. John was different. Hard muscle, angles, sinewy grace and that quiet aura of deadliness that never left him.

Reese liked running his fingers over the scars on Finch's back, massage the sometimes cramped muscles on his hip, the weight of his palms hot and heavy against the over-exerted muscle tissue. Finch's eyes closed when the touch became more, became deeper, harder, like a massage, digging into the area and drawing a breathy moan of relief mixed with pain.

"Okay?" John murmured.

"Yes," he managed.

It was okay. It helped, even if the discomfort was there, but it was manageable. After a while it became less. The heat of blood flowing through the tissue, the relentless manipulation of the deadly fingers, had him melt into the mattress, letting John work.

"Good?" Reese asked.

"Very," he moaned, words no longer his strong point.

It got Finch a chuckle and he opened his eyes – he hadn't been aware of closing them – and looked into the tanned face, blue eyes alight with laughter, the lips pulled into a wide, happy smile.

It was a smile he saw not too often; mostly only when they were alone.

"I think you missed your calling, Mr. Reese," Finch said with a sigh.

"I think I'm right where I have to be, doing what needs to be done."

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It had been more than an interesting dinner invitation. It had been downright entertaining and exhausting in one. Not everyone they met was a nuckelavee or a hecate. There were a lot of human family members. The preternatural gene didn't always take, which was normal, and sometimes a purely human couple had a preternatural child as well.

No different than anywhere else.

It was strangely reassuring.

The whole meet and greet had also told Q that Bond didn't react to every hecate the way he did to Moira Macivrae. They had met enough to be certain.

It was Moira, clear and simple.

Sienna, the hecate married to Ewan's brother Warren, had told Q that Moira was a rather strong elementary, that her family had been of this land since the beginning of Time. Q couldn't really draw a date from that, but he suspected it meant that the first people coming to Scotland had been Moira's ancestors. She was strongly linked to the earth, more so than most hecate present, and that made her more receptive to the violently dark energy harbored in his agent's soul.

Sienna had been fascinated by the energy, but she hadn't caused James to glare at her. He had been his pleasant, charming self.

With everyone.

Except Moira.

"No offense taken," she had told the technopath, sounding amused. "It's mutual, so I suspect that's payback."

Well, Q had learned a lot from meeting the Scottish preter- and supernaturals. He wasn't inclined to extend his note taking to nuckelavee and hecate, though. He had enough on his hands with his phoenix.

Even if the nuckelavee fascinated him. Shape-changers in general were a fascinating topic, but he wasn't a biologist. His field of work was clearly defined by his own abilities and he wasn't trying to expand.

"Are you sure he's a preternatural?" Eni, an older hecate asked, eyeing Bond suspiciously. He was talking to Seamus, if Q recalled correctly.

Seamus was human, but his daughter Siobhan was a hecate, even if she was only five, he had told Q. They manifested early, almost right from birth, and they were brought up learning how to control what they were by those in the family with the same preternatural abilities.

Eni looked like seventy and was going on eighty-eight, as she had told him proudly. Her husband had died almost forty years ago, killed by a hunter. Q hadn't believed it possible this day and age that humans still chased after supernaturals to kill what they perceived were monsters.

"There are monsters everywhere," she had told him. "Those who don't understand that Life and Nature comes in different shades. They see only what they want, what they perceive as normal. Nothing is normal. You, me, your friend over there. No human is normal. Everyone is a different shade. You can't eradicate prejudice, only try to survive it."

Harsh words. And she had survived, raised three children, two of them human, and she had persevered.

"Yes, I am sure," the technopath now said, still polite.

She pursed her lips. "The way Moira tells it, he might just make a shift."

"A preternatural can't become a supernatural. Shape-changers are born, not… well, they don't evolve out of a preternatural."

She smiled toothily. "He might just be the first. He's one heck of an energy vortex, my dear. But I think you know that." And then she winked.

Q stared at her, blinking behind his glasses. "I might," he finally said slowly.

Eni laughed. "Oh, you remind me so much of my grandson. You're such a lovely boy. If you hadn't been bonded already, I'd make it my work to get you together. He can call himself lucky you were his counter-balance."

Q blinked again, pushing his glasses up his nose as if they could shield him from her teasing eyes.

"I'd say I am," Bond rumbled, stepping up behind Q, holding a glass of something alcoholic.

"You should be," Q replied haughtily, glancing at the blond. "I am a catch."

Bond's eyes lit up with amusement and Eni's smile was telling.

"I might not be as receptive to your dark energy as Moira seems to be, but I can tell when something's good. And you are good," she told them. "Balance can't be forced. It's gained. There's nothing wrong with you, Mr. Bond. You are what you are because that's what's needed."

With that she ambled off and Q glanced at his partner, who was watching the elderly woman with a mild frown.

"Lucky?" he queried.

The pale blue eyes turned to look at him. "Very," was the soft reply. "I never thanked M for anything. I never wanted to thank her for anything. This is the only thing she ever pushed on me that I would thank her for."

Q was silent, aware of the weight of those words. "She knew," he finally said.

"I hope so."

They didn't touch, didn't sway closer together, but the connection between them thrummed with the shared grief of loss and regret. Bond finally gave him a little nod and walked outside, needing to clear his head, needing the cold air to chase away another kind of darkness.

Q let him.

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They declined Ewan's invitation to spend the night at the Macivrae home instead of the hotel. It was already way past midnight and it would take an hour to reach the hotel because the unlit roads were treacherous, but Bond wouldn't stay, aside from another snow front keeping them trapped out here.

Ewan understood.

Q felt a little fuzzy around the edges, even though he hadn't drunk anything other than water. Despite the offer of a beer and Bond's low, teasing remark that he was driving, Q adhered to what he had done all his life: no alcohol outside his safety zone. Loss of inhibition due to any kind of drug was the worst for a technopath.

He was anchored, yes, but he wasn't anywhere close to where he felt safe. Out here, in the Highlands, there was hardly any technology for him to get lost in, but he also didn't want to get drunk, slip up in his control, and end up falling into the emissions of the satellite controller box. That would be rather embarrassing.

So, no, thank you, on the offer for an overnight stay.

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Q was rather thankful for the fact that they were currently the only guests in the hotel and located under the roof in the new side wing. Bond's iron control cracked just a little when they were home.

Q could almost feel the dark bird rise within Bond's soul, felt it latch onto the psychic link, hungering, needing, consuming what got in its way. He simply held against it, guided the encounter, let James burn off the excess energy and sate his needs.

It was almost obscenely pleasurable and arousing to have the Double-Oh push him onto the bed and then proceed to show Q that every single part of him was a deadly weapon. That mouth, that tongue, really needed a license all of its own. Q didn't fight the words of encouragement, simply spread his legs and enjoyed it. It was almost too much to bear, to have that talented mouth and those strong fingers work him relentless. Bond was fixated on having him come and come hard.

He did.

With a groan of relief that was almost a sob, hands digging into the mattress, pushing into the hot mouth and feeling teeth scrape lightly over his cock.

Q looked into the bright blue eyes, brighter than normal, James' lips red and glistening, the expression still hungry. The technopath wasn't a martyr; far from it. He wasn't the one to lay back and think of England. Q wasn't meek or shy or weak. He could make himself known and understood, even against a dominant partner like James Bond, and there had never been anything but consensual encounters, even if some had been quite… intense.

He liked intense.

He enjoyed it, actually.

And sometimes Q wanted nothing more than to look into those wintery eyes, so pale and inhuman, and have James let go completely. It was a sight to behold, something thrilling and wonderful, something that resonated within him, had him soar, had him come so hard it was impossible to come down for a while.

Like right now.

He wanted Bond. It was his own hunger, not the least comparable to what the phoenix projected.

Q curled a hand around the muscular neck, pulled his partner into a long, intense kiss that was as dirty as the prior encounter had been, and he felt the hard evidence of James' hunger against his hip. He wrapped his other hand around that hardness, squeezing playfully.

It got him a growl, teeth nipping at his lips, at his chin, the wintery eyes inhuman in their expression.

Q bent a leg and Bond slotted himself more comfortably against the younger man, trailing biting kisses along the long, pale neck. He was straining for release, and still he refused to give in completely.

"James," Q murmured, his own teeth on Bond's ear lobe. "Please."

Another growl, but this time it sounded more like a groan.

The cracks were there to see, the control all but gone. The hecate had had that effect, her mere presence evoking a violent response that Bond was trying to work off. The energy inside him, the phoenix, the darkness, was roiling like a living thing, spoiling for a fight, needing release.

Q was very willing to channel that energy into a more pleasurable outcome.

James slid into him in one long, hard stroke, having the technopath hiss. There was no pain, no fear, just the pleasure, the fullness. Even this close to losing himself, Bond was still a man of finesse, someone well-versed in the arts, someone who took pleasure and gave it. He was known for it throughout MI6 and on a mission he used his body like a weapon.

Q had never felt jealousy, just appreciation of that perfectly honed weapon, and he moved with him, pushed back, fingers digging into the hard muscles, encouraging, wanting more.

For all his hunger and need, Bond had stamina and he pushed Q into almost getting completely hard once more. The technopath whimpered at the relentless pace, the unerring way James hit the pleasure center with each push, and he felt loose and raw and oversensitive and it was too much and not enough and too soon and not soon enough.

His mind fell into that feverish haze he knew so well, that wantneedlust state. James' fingers were curled around his cock, playing him so perfectly, getting him to rise, with nothing left to spill, and when the climax hit him, Q's whimper was almost like a release of its own. He had little left to give, but the incessant slide, the pressure, the hard form pushing against him, had him want more while simultaneously cursing the other man for his teasing play.

"James," he groaned, batting at the fingers around him.

Bond slanted his mouth over Q's, kissing him hard, pulling him closer.

Q shuddered in pleasure, then groaned when Bond ran his fingers over the wet hole, playfully teasing.

The maddening fingers moved to trace the scar on Q's abdomen. The gunshot wound, healed but never forgotten. Bond's fingers brushed over it, then his hand rested flat and heavy against it. Warmth seemed to seep into Q's skin.

"Sorry," the Double-Oh murmured against the skin of his shoulder.

There was half an apology in there. Not because of what had just happened but because of what had happened a few hours ago at the Macivrae home.

Q ran blunt nails over the hot skin. "We really need to work on your reaction to a strong hecate," he muttered.

"Nothing to work on."

"Right."

Pale blue eyes opened and glared at him, narrow and with a silver sheen to them.

"You actively avoided being in the same room with Mrs. Macivrae in the end," Q pointed out. "You'd leave the country if you could."

"I can control my reactions!" the phoenix snapped, trying to push away.

Q wrapped a strong hand around Bond's neck, meeting the furious eyes calmly.

"Training, 007. Simple training. Exposure. Building up shields, a tolerance"

Bond continued to glare, a muscle in his jaw twitching a little.

"James," he implored. "She is a weakness. Her abilities clash with your energy. The phoenix is set off by her personality, her existence. You can't do anything about what you are, but you can work on reining in your emotions. You're good at that, no matter the circumstances, when you're on a mission. This is a mission."

Bond closed his eyes, exhaling sharply, then settled back down. "Training," he muttered.

"I'm not saying we'll expose you to Moira again and again, but when we meet her, shield. Control what you are."

He snorted.

"You're an agent with a license to kill, 007. A senior agent with years of experience under your belt. You are adaptable, and while there is this saying about old dogs, I resent that."

"The old or the dog?"

He chuckled. "Both."

Bond lightly stroked over his ribs, caressing him without trying to arouse.

"It's like an allergic reaction," he muttered.

Q was silent, carding his fingers through the blond strands. "We'll manage."

"I've never met another person I reacted this… badly to before."

"Hopefully she is the only one."

He chuckled. "I bloody well hope so, too."

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They fell asleep not much later, still wrapped up with each other, and Q didn't mind a clingy phoenix. Not at all.

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"So The Machine gave Q everything."

Finch drummed his fingers against the table top, then caught himself. "Yes."

"Do you trust him?"

He looked up, meeting the sedate, even gaze. Reese watched him patiently. He was dressed all in black today, pants and dress shirt, and it was mildly distracting. Finch had seen him in all states of dress and undress, but this was… well, it was… He pushed the thoughts away.

"It trusts him," the cipher only said.

"Do you trust him, Harold?"

He was silent, mulling the question over in his head. Did he trust the quartermaster of the MI6? Did he trust a technopath who could easily hack whatever he wanted, seek what he wanted to find, and simply take what he felt he wanted to know? Did he trust a preternatural who had been home to his program; the very same program who had overwhelmed the technopath's defenses and just taken what it wanted?

Did he?

"Yes," Harold said slowly, and it was the truth.

He trusted Q. He would even trust James Bond to a degree, but he knew very little of the man. He didn't know everything about Q either, but there was a kinship, something that connected them.

"The Machine made a decision based on its experiences, the survival instinct deep within its core programming, and it chose Q. I trust him," he explained.

Reese nodded his acceptance.

"He wouldn't gain anything from making my… location and new identity… well, identities, known to the authorities."

The hellhound raised an eyebrow.

"The Machine is its own master, Mr. Reese," Finch said sternly. "He can't ever hope to acquire control over it."

"He is a technopath."

"Not a very good one."

Reese chuckled, low and soft and knowing.

Finch closed his eyes, calming himself. He knew just how good Q was, which was worlds better than Finch was as a cipher, and if the younger man wanted to, he would gain entry, find a way to possess what Finch had set free.

He felt the breath of a presence behind him, the ghost of a touch over his shoulders and neck.

"You trust him," John murmured.

The voice was rough, slightly jagged at the edge, and slightly more sensual than before.

"You trust him and I agree. Relax."

"He knows about your file, too."

"I don't care, Harold."

Because there was nothing in there of importance; not anymore.

Strong fingers caressed his neck, slid over the collar-covered scar. It was calming. It had always been calming, ever since John had started it. A simple touch, to a vulnerable spot. An old injury. And Finch trusted Reese never to hurt him.

"I think it's time to really trust what you created and gave life."

"I never…" he started to protest, but the smile silenced him. "Maybe," Finch amended.

Reese stepped back, breaking contact. Finch looked at him.

"We have a new number," the ex-CIA operative stated.

"Yes, we do."

"Back to work then."

Finch twitched a smile. "Back to work."

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The day had started out with a mild drizzle. More of a fog coming down to cling to the skin, the hair, the clothes. The clouds hung low, obscuring the mountains, and somewhere in the distance the sound of sheep was like a beacon for the lost.

James Bond wasn't lost. Dressed in runner's clothes, wearing fingerless gloves and a scarf wrapped around his neck, he was running. The path he had taken from town was narrow, more like a deer trail, most likely used by the occasional hiker or mountain biker, and it went past the edge of town and toward the hills in easy rises and falls.

Bond had woken early, with the first light barely filtering through the drawn blinds, and he had slipped silently out of bed to run. Q had still been fast asleep.

The phoenix had felt restless; still restless. There was too much energy inside him, accumulated over the past hours and not all of it had been dispersed with the help of his partner. It wasn't the resurrection energy he had felt churning through him before. It was different, like something that wanted out and attack and maim and kill. It was something that had trickled in slowly throughout yesterday, now close to overflowing, and it had been triggered by Moira Macivrae's simple presence.

The phoenix reacted to her and not in a good way. It was clear to Bond that the woman was doing nothing at all, that she was simply there, and that her presence was enough. She wasn't trying to rile him up; it just happened.

Feet pounding over the damp ground, his thoughts flowed everywhere. It was a monotonous way of working out, without much thought, and his mind was free to roam everywhere else. He wasn't really in a fugue state or zoning out. He was very much aware of his surroundings, but his mind was turning over problems, working through yesterday's events, and he knew that Q had been right: he needed to train.

In all his years he had never encountered a preter- or supernatural who had affected him like that.

It was a weakness.

Being with Q had tired him out last night, but he had felt like the world's greatest arse afterwards. Sex was one thing; last night had been close to just being a hard fuck and nothing more. Q hadn't complained and he knew the technopath was very well able to say no, to push Bond away, and he wouldn't just lie there and take it if he didn't want to.

Still, that sour feeling hadn't abated.

Running was tiring him out, too. An hour or two and he would be back to normal.

He hoped.

There was a sound not far into the distance and Bond's eyes narrowed as he kept his pace, never faltering. It hadn't sounded mechanical, more like an animal.

But it wasn't.

At least not in the conventional way.

"Ewan," he greeted the large nuckelavee who trotted out of the fog.

James had to hand it to the legend: it really made the supernatural beings look like NightMares when you didn't expect such an alien looking creature to come out of the foggy drizzle. The black hide was glistening with water and the unnaturally textured skin appeared more like skinless muscle and sinews. Fairy tales and children's horror stories were born that way. Add to that the bumps and ridges, the white, large eyes, and the skeletal sleekness, it all made up a monster instead of a shape-shifter.

Nostrils blew wide. "James. I thought I had seen you leave." Ewan's voice was gravelly and deep.

The supernatural fell in step beside him, easily matching Bond's gait. He wasn't really challenged by the pace and Bond knew four legs could outrun him any day. He was already heading back toward the town, but it would take another forty minutes to reach the hotel.

"Needed the workout."

"Energy," the other agreed, milky eyes watching him carefully.

Bond's lips pulled into a dark smile. "Kinda. You?"

The nuckelavee just snorted. "Restlessness. Sometimes you just get the need to shift and run." He flicked an ear. "And then I met you."

The Double-Oh stopped on a small hill overlooking the town not far away. His face was wet from sweat and the drizzle, his hair spiky, the clothes damp. He wasn't really breathing all that hard. It was a good sign; he was in perfect shape.

"I have to train my control," he finally said, glancing at the NightMare beside him. "No offense to your wife, but it feels like I'm… touching a live wire."

"She says the same about you."

"Polar opposites. And we don't really attract each other. That's why I need to work on this. Exposure."

Ewan gave him a dubious look; as far as Bond could tell that it was dubious. The range of discernible, human expressions on the alien face was limited.

"She was always a very… sensitive hecate. It's a curse and a blessing in one. She is one of those very few, very talented elementaries who can sense the shift of nature around us, who can manipulate the ground we stand on if she wants to, but the curse is the backwash. I know she tried it a few times in her youth and it ended badly. Every ability comes with a price."

Bond gave him a neutral look. Yes, he knew about prices and payment.

"So she can feel the shifts in me," he finally stated.

"Moira said she feels riled up around you, like something is trying to push her out of balance. She was pretty upset for the rest of the evening, but she isn't prone to… blowing things up. She is an elementary, so her powers flow with the land. She's got a very good grip on them. Upsetting her won't end in a thunder storm or snow piling on our front door."

Bond chuckled. "Good to know. I'd hate to explain to my partner why I was struck by lightning."

It got him a low rumble that had to be laughter. "You're in no danger there. But I'd understand if you want to cut your visit short."

Bond shook his head. "No."

The pointed ears flicked a little. "It's really all up to you."

"I can deal with it. I have to deal with it. Kieran was right that I might run into another hecate one day, who will pose the same problem. I can't simply lose it because of a little discomfort."

"Not in your line of work," the other agreed.

He started to slowly walk toward the town, Ewan following. The nuckelavee, for all his size and mass, walked almost noiselessly.

"No."

"Will you visit Kincade before you leave?"

"I planned to."

"You should tell him."

Bond shot him a look, brows raised.

"About what you are."

He was silent, just walking. Ewan kept his own silence.

"Why?" James finally asked.

"He isn't going to judge you. He is your friend. He was ready to die when he was by your side at Skyfall."

The Double-Oh stopped and turned, looking at the NightMare towering slightly over him. Ewan returned his gaze calmly. The milky eyes gave nothing away.

Finally he gave a little nod and continued his way to the town. Ewan accompanied him until they reached the first house, then he said his good-byes. They would see each other later, for lunch, for some more talking, and Bond knew it would be good for him. For building a resistance or at least a tolerance to the hecate.

tbc...