He hadn't chosen a suite. It was a deluxe room nevertheless, with a king-sized bed, a large bathroom, a bar section that was included in the rather steep room price, and a view over Central Park.
Bond had no eyes for the view. He stood in the bathroom, looking at his mirror image. He was naked, except for his underpants, and his skin was riddled with bruises, scrapes and cuts that had been hidden underneath his clothes.
The long gash along his left thigh he had stitched and bandaged. Bond undid the wrapping and changed it after cleaning the wound. The bullet scrape across his left bicep had scabbed over, but he had had to stitch it closed as well.
Nothing life-threatening. Nothing that would be a problem should he be required to go on the next mission right away, though he wouldn't say no to a week of recovery – even if it meant desk duty.
"Hello, Q," he said softly, smiling at his mirror image.
"Good evening, 007," came the cool reply from across the ocean.
Bond might have lost his comm. devices, but he had acquired a cell phone. The number he had dialed was secure and he knew Q would make sure that their call wouldn't be traced, nor would anyone listen in. Not even The Machine.
"Busy day?" the Double-Oh asked as he poked at a healing scrape along his shoulder.
"You've been incommunicado, 007. It was an eventless day indeed. I caught up with some of my other projects."
Ah, there it was. The faint irascibility. That light note of having to put up with an agent who so conveniently went off the grid and only resurfaced after his handler was close to strangling him.
"I'm a project?" Bond teased as he taped the bullet scrape.
"A never-ending one. Where did you lose my equipment this time?"
The annoyance was clearer now, mixed with that mild chastisement of having lost another piece of valuable gear.
"Do you really want to know? I thought I'd surprise you with my report."
Bond grinned to himself. He could just imagine Q's slightly huffy expression.
"You never really surprise me."
"What about Bangkok?"
Yes, there was the huff. And probably an eye-roll that, while he couldn't see it, he clearly knew was happening.
"You still want me to believe that a snake ate your phone?"
"The truth and nothing but the truth. It was a big snake. I'd send you a picture, but…"
"It wasn't a snake this time," Q stated.
"No. A mountain came down on it. Rainwater, mud, you do the equation."
There was a moment of silence, then Q sighed, irritation clearly audible. "A mountain."
"Yes."
"And you decided to lose the comm. gear, too? No, don't answer that. I should know already."
"Still got your gun."
"Small miracles," was the muttered answer. "If it still works."
"It does."
Even if it had scuff marks and a deep scratch along the barrel.
"Where are you now?"
"You don't know?"
Another annoyed noise. "I'd rather have you confirm the location."
He laughed and reached for his t-shirt. "New York City. The Plaza, to be precise. Check the company card. And if you want my exact location: the bathroom, in front of the mirror."
"I take it you and Mr. Reese have met?"
"Yes, it was an interesting conversation. Mr. Finch seems to be working through the revelation."
Bond rolled his shoulders, felt a little sting here or there, but it wasn't bad. He pulled on the shirt, then took the smartphone and walked into the main room.
"I thought it would be a little troublesome for him."
"You could have kept it to yourself, Q. You told him. I think that's a show of trust."
James settled on the bed and reclined, back resting against the headboard. He could look out the window from here, the curtains were still open, and the view was nice.
"My flight is still on schedule," he remarked.
"I am quite aware of it," the quartermaster confirmed. "British Airways Flight 107, departure time eight a.m. from Newark. First class reservation, row 5, seat K."
Bond grinned. Of course his handler knew about his travel plans. He hadn't expected any less.
"New mission?"
"Not to my knowledge. Tanner will want a debrief after you have arrived, then Medical."
Bond sighed.
Q didn't comment.
"How are you?" the technopath finally asked, voice dropping to a more personal level, losing the distance.
"I'm fine, Q. Nothing life-threatening."
"That can be everything from a stab wound to a bullet to the gut, 007," was the stern reply.
"Bullet scrape to the arm, cut to the thigh, a few bumps and bruises. I didn't die. I'm fine."
Q muttered something uncomplimentary that had Bond laugh.
"I'll see you tomorrow," the Double-Oh said.
"Tomorrow," Q agreed, voice lowering a little once more. "Try not to cause too much havoc on the way home."
"Good night, Q."
And with that he switched off the phone. He lay back on the large, comfortable bed, gazing at the ceiling. Too bad M hadn't found another mission for him, this side of the Atlantic. It would have meant sending Q with the necessary briefing, papers and new gear. It would have meant some private time.
Well, he would have soon because Medical would ground him for a day or two anyway.
Bond closed his eyes, smiling to himself, and fell asleep.
x X XX xx Xx X XX xx Xx X XX xx Xx X XX xx Xx X XX xx Xx X XX xx Xx X XX xx Xx X XX xx Xx X XX xx Xx X XX xx Xx X XX xx Xx X XX xx Xx X XX xx Xx X XX xx Xx X XX xx Xx X XX xx X
His return to MI6 was a routine affair. James Bond was debriefed by Tanner, then sent to Medical, who poked and prodded him while he tried not to kill or permanently injure one of them. He would do the evaluation run, as ordered, and he would be cleared for the field. There was no doubt in Bond's mind.
He finally he sauntered into Q branch.
Gray suit tailored to perfection and maybe just a little too tight. White shirt. Black tie. Polished, black shoes. The blue eyes shone brightly in the tanned face, the dark blond hair perfectly coiffed. He was a sight to behold and the cut of the suit attracted a few surreptitious looks from both genders.
"Q," he greeted the head of Q branch.
Q looked up, pushing his glasses back up his nose. His hair was as messy as always, but in that artful way that spoke of deliberation. One lock roguishly hung into his forehead.
Bond really wanted to push it back.
Q was dressed as smartly as always, even wearing a tie to the red and black vest over the white shirt with its black stripes. Bond walked around the work station and smirked.
"New trousers," he murmured, leaning closer to Q without even making an effort. "Colorful, too. Yellow."
The technopath glanced at him, eyebrows rising. "Are you critiquing my wardrobe? And it's mustard, if you have to know. Not yellow."
"Looks yellow to me, though. I'm also just appreciating the spot of color in the black and white that is Q branch."
It was true. Many of the underlings wore black, gray or blue suits, sweaters or a variation thereof. Q almost always stood out with his choice of clothes and colors. It was refreshing.
"I'm not going to argue with you about colors and shades all day. You are a master of distraction. I'm quite aware that you destroyed my equipment, 007. Why are you here?" the quartermaster asked, his behavior in their work environment as always professional.
It was what threw off those who claimed him and Bond were an item. It also spread uncertainty among those who thought they were an on-and-off couple.
"I'm grounded."
He walked around the room, eyes flicking over the work stations, the underlings doing their best not to appear like they were watching or listening in. Nothing much had changed in the time since they had made the underground bunker the new MI6 headquarters. The white-washed walls were still as pristine as before, though the screens had doubled in numbers.
Bond completed his rounds, smirking at Q's neutral expression.
"I'm not running a day-care center for grounded agents, 007."
"I know."
He opened the button on his suit jacket and made himself comfortable on the couch. His couch. He kicked up his feet, crossing them at the ankles, and leaned back comfortably.
The quartermaster turned, leaning against the table, hands curling around the desk top. Q's annoyance was clearly visible, but there was a fondness in those eyes that spoke a different language.
"I read the report."
"I'm sure you did."
As his handler, Q would read any and all reports, but he also kept up to date with every other Double-Oh agent in the field.
"And nothing happened," Bond added, voice softer, lower, reassuring his partner that yes, he hadn't died.
Right now he was convinced that Q would feel it again should it happen, and it wasn't a good feeling to know that this was a possibility. He didn't want Q to feel any of the violence and death he encountered routinely, but it might be possible.
"Aside from blowing up the compound of an insane, rogue CIA operative with a knack for hoarding biological agents? Or leaving a trail of destruction wide enough for me to follow without the need of satellite imagery? Or stealing not only an Apache helicopter, but also a private jet?"
"I didn't steal it, Q. I acquired it. And the private jet belongs to a very generous woman by the name of Elizabeth Franconi. I was allowed to use it. Free of charge."
Bond smiled his most charming smile. All it got him was a scowl.
"Of course it was."
"All for Queen and country."
Q's brows rose and he shook his head.
Bond winked at him and switched on the tablet he had taken off Q's work station.
"Oh please," the technopath muttered, though there was a smile around his lips.
It was one of those experimental tablets that seemed to migrate to Q's work place now and then. James had tried some of them before. He found them quite interesting and he had once had had the pleasure of a 3-D holo-projector model. That had been quite entertaining.
Q turned back to his work.
The tablet came on and Bond suppressed a laugh when Angry Birds popped up. Another window informed him that his virtual library had been restocked and there were several new books he was looking forward to read, as well as back issues to magazines and newspapers.
He leaned back more comfortably.
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Bond had disappeared out of Q branch before Q's official office hours had been over, and he knew his partner wouldn't pull any overtime today. It had been almost too easy to walk past the busy working bees, taking the well-known corridors back to the surface.
"Plans?" a voice sounded in his ear and he had to smile. It was a habit to wear the comm.
"No," was the low, quiet reply.
There was a hum, then nothing. Bond smiled more and slipped out of the building, past security, joining the people on the street. It was actually a rather nice day and he decided to enjoy the rest of it in one of his favorite bars.
x X XX xx X
He walked into their flat – it had taken a while but now he really called it 'their' – the door locking behind himself automatically, immediately scanning the area for Q. He found him in the office, at the computer; where else?
From the looks of it, he hadn't been home for more than ten minutes either.
Their eyes met and the phoenix rumbled, wanting closeness, hungering for its bonded mate, and Bond approached the technopath almost without conscious thought.
The kiss was softer than expected, almost probing, testing the waters, then the Double-Oh dove into it. It was met enthusiastically, strongly, with as much force as Bond had put into their kiss. He felt slender fingers dig into his shirt, pushing him back, and he let it happen. His back connected with the wall. There was a flare of needles from his cracked rib, but he refused to give in to it.
Q pulled away, lips red, cheeks flushed, breathing hard, but the expression in those eyes was anything but smitten or love-struck.
"How bad?" he demanded.
"You know the file."
"I know you."
Bond framed his face with calloused hands, smiling, then kissing him softly again. "I'm fine."
"I keep telling you, I know your 'fine', 007."
He stepped back, still smiling, and slipped off the suit jacket, then unbuttoned his shirt. Sharp eyes followed his every movement and Q frowned as he discovered the multiple cuts and contusions. He brushed gentle fingers over the worst discoloration.
The phoenix almost purred.
This wasn't just worry. It was curiosity, too. Q knew how much his agent could take, knew that he could survive against all odds and come back. This was more. This was the bond, this was the reaction to something that was outside his considerable control. Q could log himself into almost anything around the world. He could see everything, talk to Bond through a million devices, but he couldn't stop death. He couldn't keep his agent from harm.
Bond slid off the shirt and Q's gaze was drawn to the taped wound on his left bicep. The bullet graze.
James kissed him again, trying to distract him from the really rather insignificant injury.
"I didn't die," he whispered against the technopath's lips. "I'm okay. Nothing happened."
"I know you didn't die," was the calm reply. "Because I would have felt it."
Bond stared at him, feeling something inside of him constrict at the matter-of-fact delivery. He didn't want that. He didn't want any echoes of what he went through, of the power surge, of the phoenix rising and claiming back Life, going through to his partner.
"You know it's how it works now," was the quiet reply.
Acceptance.
Complete and utter acceptance.
It floored Bond again and again. Q had taken it all, accepted it all, and he had incorporated it into his life.
"This is what we are. It's what we need to be," he continued, voice low, intense. "I leech my strength off you; feeling the phoenix is a small price to pay. I'm not afraid of you and never have been."
Bond's fingers flexed, one hand resting on the narrow hips. The darkness inside him seemed to grow with the words, the acceptance cutting through his control.
He lost himself in the next kiss. It was warm and deep and gentle and had none of the frantic, hungry claiming of the past. It relayed something deep inside his soul to the other man; something that was received and answered. It freed him in a way, reassured him that Q was right here with him. It lay deeper, and he had no words for it.
None at all.
Q cupped his neck as they kissed, pulling him in deeper and when they parted, Bond let his head drop onto one warm shoulder.
A tremor passed through him.
"I love you," Q whispered into one ear. "And I need you. I want this so badly, James. I want to feel you. I want to know. Always."
He screwed his eyes shut, pulling the younger man closer. His counter-balance. The steady rock in the vortex that was his soul.
"Kian."
Q stepped back, but the fingers of his right hand curled around James' wrist and he pulled.
Toward the bedroom.
He followed.
Only too willingly.
tbc...