They arrived back at their flat early evening and Q scowled at the mess of clothes that would need to be laundered. Bond just walked into the kitchen, grabbed himself a beer, and took a long swallow. Here was a man who was very happy to be back home, even if as an agent of Her Majesty he was always travelling, never home for long.

Scotland, Skyfall, the Macivraes, and Moira in particular, had thrown him.

Q could tell. The tension was still there, only slowly bleeding away as the phoenix settled. Hours on the road and still… this.

Bloody hell, he thought.

Q would stay in contact with the hecate. She was an interesting woman and she might be able to help the technopath shed some light on what he and James were to each other. At least she seemed to sense some things on them.

Not that Bond would be happy about seeing her again, so personal visits would be kept at a minimum, if at all.

Wintery eyes watched him over the bottle, cool and calculating and just slightly inhuman. The sharper features spoke of the preternatural rising and Q tilted his head a little, almost quizzically, then simply turned and grabbed his bag to sort his clothes for a wash.

x X XX xx X

James trapped him against the wall, lips claiming Q's, tasting of expensive beer, dark and strong and exciting. Q slid his hands around the naked waist, the white shirt falling open, allowing him a perfect view of the expanse of muscled chest. He let his partner trail little bites down his neck, let the phoenix rise and claim.

"We really need to get a handle on your reactions, 007," he murmured, lightly biting one ear.

Bond shuddered, burying his face against Q's neck. "This isn't about her."

"Oh?"

"No," he ground out.

It wasn't like they hadn't been together throughout the weekend. Far from it. Q had felt it throughout each day, aware that the preter- and supernaturals around him might just pick up on it as well.

"So this is about…"

"You."

"Me," Q echoed, not even making it a question.

The phoenix growled, literally growled, and Q framed the strong face, smiling a little. He felt the five-o'clock shadow under his palm, rough and a little gritty, like the Double-Oh himself.

"You have me. You know it. Even your primal side knows it."

Bond was visibly gritting his teeth, fighting something Q could only describe as feral in its very nature.

"You have me," he repeated. "Whatever you think, you have me."

This had rattled Bond more than he had thought. Moira was a threat and the threat was still there. Oh, he really had to work with his agent on this.

"We'll handle this," he promised. "But not tonight."

Because tonight was for them and tomorrow both men would be back at work. In Bond's case that meant probably a new case soon, maybe within hours of coming in.

They would enjoy the rest of their weekend for now.

If Q sported a very obvious bite mark the next morning, he didn't speak of it. And none of his underlings dared to comment.

x X XX x XX x XX x XX x XX x XX x XX x XX x XX x XX x XX x XX x XX x XX x XX xx X

The second time Finch talked to Q was almost ten days later. He had called the technopath late at night, local time, while Reese was busy with a new number. Q was apparently monitoring his own agent, who was busy saving the world somewhere else. He wouldn't go into detail and Finch wouldn't ask. He simply heard the tension in the younger man's voice and knew it was something dangerous, life-threatening, and right now Bond was probably on his own.

Life of a handler.

Finch would never have chosen that profession, would never have thought he was capable of it anyway, and now that was exactly what he was doing.

Ignoring their day-to-day business, he went back to the revelation about his machine. And they talked.

In detail.

Finch was terrified and elated by the changes in his program, his machine.

"I think I have been deemed worthy enough to know. Trustworthy enough."

Q sounded almost mystified.

"It… knows you."

"Well, yes. We met," the technopath admitted slowly. "But it imprinted on you. You are The Admin, the creator, the one it will always turn to. I might be more like… back-up."

He sounded amused and thoughtful in one.

Back-up. Finch thought about it. Back-up handler? Back-up admin? It was possible. The Machine was known to set up contingencies, like Finch had done with Reese that one time. It might see Q as one to turn to in case of a catastrophe.

Like a hard reset. A virus. Decima trying to hack it again.

"It trusts you," Finch repeated softly.

"I could hardly harm it, Harold," was the slightly scoffing reply.

Q might not notice the inflection of his voice, but he sounded a little bit affronted right now. Finch smiled.

"I didn't mean it in a negative sense of the word, Mr. Whittmore. It trusts you. I'm actually amazed by that development. And relieved. It sought out a shield, someone to protect it when I couldn't be that person any more."

"My abilities to protect your creation are very limited."

"You covered its traces."

"It hid within me."

Finch nodded, though Q couldn't see it. "And if you had been more adept in your abilities, you could have harmed it. You could change the program, you could erase fragments, you could cripple it."

Q was silent. "But I am not that person, Harold. It could snuff me out like a candle."

"You would never be that person, except when you or Mr. Bond are under duress and threatened."

There was a soft sigh.

"I… don't mind that you… know, Kian," the cipher added, a bit halting, trying to find the right words. "About me. I know John wouldn't care. His files have been known to others before."

"But not yours."

"No." He drummed his fingers on the dark desk top. "I reinvented myself. I became different people. I'm… there was never anyone who knew me, the real me."

"Until now?"

"Until John."

"Oh."

"I told him my real name and I gave him access to the file you already know, Q." Finch felt something inside of him tremble. It had been a massive show of trust, a gigantic step forward in their relationship.

"Let me guess: he never looked at it."

"Possible."

"But I looked."

"For you it's a memory. I understand that. I think The Machine… it's… it might see it as necessary, even though I would argue that it isn't."

Because knowledge was power and power was something Finch wasn't ready to surrender to anyone. The Machine had taken that decision out of his hands, had involved Q in a way Finch hadn't even contemplated before.

For a reason.

For back-up.

For an alliance that had already been formed and shaped and maintained. Now it was even more interwoven.

"Harold?"

He jerked out of his thoughts, embarrassed that he hadn't heard Q the first time.

"My apologies," he murmured.

"I created an island server," the technopath said, clearly repeating something he had mentioned before. He was way too amused about Harold's little fugue moment.

"For what reason?"

"The access is limited to two people. You and me. You can find me and James there. All of us. And my notes and observations on the phoenix."

"Q, no."

"It wants me to be the back-up, Harold, but that goes both ways. We might need your help one day, in a capacity that exceeds what you have already done," Q said firmly. "You might need to get to Bond in a way only I could. You might need knowledge that I have and you couldn't get to. The trust goes both ways."

He drew a shaky breath, looking at the email that had just popped up on his secure server.

Password protected.

"The Machine can open the line for you," Q added and Finch froze.

"W-what?"

"You simply have to ask it."

"You talked to it?!"

Q laughed. "Dear god, no. I haven't been closer to the HUD than absolutely necessary. It was a request, using my private network and heavy encoding, I sent and it agreed."

It boggled the mind and Harold closed his eyes, feeling that tremor again. His creation had become so much more, so much faster than anticipated.

"Read it, Harold," the technopath could be heard. "It might save our collective arses one day."

He laughed breathlessly. "Probably. Thank you."

Finch opened his eyes, gazing at the password protected email sitting innocently in his inbox. He would read it; later.

"I might have a request on a different matter," Q said.

He raised his eyebrows. "What matter?"

"Hecate."

"Elementary witches," Finch said immediately. "Very wide-spread preternatural. And common."

"What wasn't very common was the phoenix's reaction to one particular. I think if James had been less controlled he would have torn her to pieces. Or tried to anyway."

"Ah. Is that the same one who managed to fend off his attack while he was visiting Skyfall?"

"The very same."

"Interesting."

"You wouldn't call it anything less than a bloody disaster had you been there," Q griped. "It was like holding on to a rabid dog."

Harold smiled a little. "Not a perfect analogy, considering his preternatural status."

"I've never been more glad he isn't a supernatural, Mr. Finch. He was reacting so strongly to her mere presence."

"I might have some first editions dealing with hecate of the old times, but I doubt they will help. Everything about them is rather widely known. Hecate aren't rare, aren't secretive, and since each country, each culture, had their own variations of their preternatural abilities, it might be impossible to track down what exactly this one woman has that makes Mr. Bond react so intensely."

"Well, manners might be one thing," Q laughed. "She is very… straight-forward. And she doesn't back down. But we met others and Moira Macivrae is the only trigger in the whole clan. All hecate could sense our connection, could sense Bond's dark nature, but she was the only one who saw everything. She mentioned she's surprised he isn't a shape-changer with the amount of energy he stores."

Finch frowned. "He has evolved," he said thoughtfully. "The moment he didn't go over the edge he became something the world hadn't seen in what I suspect is probably a long time. Counter-balancing a phoenix is almost impossible. Finding that balance is equally difficult for them."

"I know we both entered uncharted territory, which is why I'm flying blind," the quartermaster agreed. "I've reviewed my own notes and I know Bond is getting stronger. I can feel it sometimes, Harold."

"How?"

There was a moment of silence. "I… I can't really describe it. It's bloody difficult. I simply know. Moira mentioned that the phoenix is a dark creature, residing inside a human soul, and it leaves when the body and mind can't support it anymore. That it destroys its host. She talked about it like a separate entity. I know it isn't. It's the primal side of Bond's nature. It's the blood-lust and killer instinct and everything that needs and wants and will survive against all odds. The vicious ferocity that would always kill. And still…" He hesitated. "It's no longer like before. I could always see it, touch it. I was never afraid of the darkness. I wasn't terrified of the lust and hunger for blood and violence."

"You're the counter-balance," Finch said softly. "You're the only one that understands and can weather this storm, can take it."

"Yes. And it…" Q blew out a breath. "James… he said he loves me."

Finch blinked.

"Not just once. He meant it, Harold. And it meant it. It was the phoenix and him. It wasn't an empty phrase, a heat of the moment declaration. It was... all of him. The phoenix... loves me. Instinct has no emotions; the dark hunger can't love. But it does. And it… it grew stronger. After everything that happened, it strengthened the bond into something that brought James back from an impossible resurrection."

"Uncharted territory," Harold echoed.

"Yes, indeed."

"The phoenix is evolving and the hecate noticed."

"She's downright terrified of the power, of the connection, and that the phoenix isn't dominating and controlling me. She truly believed me to be a puppet, a toy for the phoenix to use and abuse."

Harold leaned back, eyes on the grimy window, the milky panes barely clear enough to let in much sunlight. He had met James Bond only briefly, but he knew the phoenix was a terrible thing. There had been so very few of them in the past that had made it into any kind of report, lore or folk tale. They were intense, living hot and fast and under a pressure that destroyed them because the human body, mind and soul wasn't made to be like this. Their own amazing abilities to resurrect were their downfall.

Unless they found a balance.

And their nature would develop, evolve, flourish.

Elementary witches were attuned to the flow of energy around them, so if Moira Macivrae was more receptive than others, she had every right to be terrified of what James Bond was.

"She said he felt like a shape-changer?" Finch picked up what Q had mentioned already.

"Yes. Apparently supernaturals house a lot of energy due to their abilities to shift shape. She says it's necessary to start the process. Preternaturals can't jump classifications," he added with a little scoff.

"I doubt Mr. Bond will sprout wings," Finch agreed, lips curling into an amused smile.

"Dear god, please, no!" Q groaned. "No claws, no wings, no fangs. The man is a menace with my weapons already. Or without them. I also realize that what she picked up as shifting energy is what he uses to resurrect. It's simply… unsettling to have it spelled out. That he can be seen that way."

"By one hecate."

"Well, yes. One person James won't talk to, or be in the same room with, if he can help it. We really need to work on that."

Finch grinned at the tone of voice. "A handler's work is never done."

"Ah, yes. Sadly. But it keeps life interesting."

Finch could only agree to that. His own was only too interesting as well.

As for the phoenix, he would read the accumulated facts. He would look into hecate and their sensitivity to the energy in a supernatural being. It would be an interesting read, if nothing else.

tbc...