[Author's Note: A special early post for stephrc79 — hope your week gets better, darlin'!]
Q and Bond walked back down the country road in silence. When they got to the high street Q checked his watch and grimaced. "We just missed the train. It'll be forty-five minutes until the next one." He squinted, looking down the street. "I wasn't kidding — that cafe is abominable, but we could get a sandwich or something."
They settled at the small cafe table with some dodgy-looking sandwiches and two only slightly more appealing cups of tea. Bond laid his hand over Q's and Q flashed him a grateful smile.
"Tell me what she was like," Bond said. "Before."
Q's eyes widened in surprise for a moment, but then he smiled fondly. "She was...lovely. I remember so looking forward to her visits when I was living with grand-mère." His mouth twisted ironically for a moment before his expression softened again. "She brought me chocolate-covered marzipan, then. And she laughed all the time. She was so full of life."
Q sighed. "Then I went to live with her, and I started to see her a little more clearly. Speaking of names, hers — Naila — means ambition. She was very much the opposite, a complete dreamer. She was always brilliant, but so foolish at the same time."
Q took a sip of his tea, collecting his thoughts. "I think she was so...lively, because she was scared to stop and think for a moment. She fell for one man after another, all of them married or complete prats, or both. I learned not to get attached."
Q stared down into his teacup, his expressive brow furrowing with remembered pain. "Grand-mère died when I was eleven. And then at thirteen I went to Harrow." Q's eyes flashed bright at Bond for a moment. "You know how that is. They ask who your parents are before they ask your name, and there I was, tuition paid by a man who had formally disavowed me. The whole school knew I was a bastard before I even had my house assignment."
"Snotty little wankers," Bond agreed. "Of course, I was sent down from Eton after two halves."
Q rolled his eyes. "Yes, well 'girl trouble' was not my issue."
Bond snorted. "You really have memorized my file, haven't you?"
Q blushed a little, shrugging. "Seducing a maid at age thirteen is somewhat memorable," he said wryly.
"Well, I wasn't all that smooth, I assure you," Bond laughed. "I barely got my hand up her skirt and got thrown out on my arse for my trouble. Not that I minded. Fettes was more to my liking, anyway."
Q nodded. "Yes. Well, I wasn't at Harrow long either," he said, his hands tightening on his teacup as he apparently contemplated the next part of his story.
Bond stayed silent. He already knew that Q had been sentenced at sixteen; the math wasn't complicated. He would listen if Q was ready to share the circumstances leading up to his imprisonment, but he wouldn't push.
"The other boyfriends had been rotters, all of them, but only the last one was...cruel," Q finally said. "I met him on winter holidays, and he was an arse. Always putting her down, but she wouldn't hear a word against him. By Easter holidays he was worse. Violent."
Q's eyes flew up to Bond's face. "I tried to report him, I did, but she denied everything and nothing came of it. I was so angry, and probably a bit of a coward." He looked away again, his mouth pressed into a tight line. "I just...left. Stormed out without even telling her goodbye. Spent the last few days around London with the little bit of pocket money I had earned, sleeping rough in my damned Harrow uniform. I'm lucky I didn't get my throat cut. I made my way back to school on my own."
Q swallowed the dregs of his tea, long-since grown cold. "By summer holidays it was...intolerable. He'd landed her in A&E a few times in between, but everyone looked the other way. He started in on her again, and when I got in the middle he started in on me."
Q's eyes were cold now, his thoughts seemingly trapped in the past. "I bought a gun. That was the part that got me, the firearms violation. And the premeditation. The only one I could afford was broken — dodgy as the guy was, I think that's the only reason he sold it to a kid like me. But I was good at fixing things, even back then. I took it apart and put it back together again, and I got it working."
Bond pictured Q's hands, elegant and deft on his Walther, and imagined him back then. How old must he have been — Sixteen? Fifteen, even? Small and alone and bloodied, that look of intent concentration on his young face as he carefully repaired and reassembled a black-market firearm. The wave of protective rage threatened to swamp Bond, and he gritted his teeth against it.
"I don't know if I really meant to shoot him, or if I thought I could just...scare him away somehow." Q's mouth twisted bitterly. "I was such a naive little twit. I barely got it out of my pocket and he had it away from me, like it was nothing. Knocked me across the room, and beat the stuffing out of us both."
Q's laugh was humorless, chilling. "Then he put the gun down on the coffee table, and went to get a beer. Just like that. Like he just knew I wasn't any threat to him."
Q's eyes met Bond's, and Bond saw that flash again, the cold and steely ferocity he had last seen in Mallory's office. "He was wrong," Q said flatly. "I shot him in the back three times before he could crack open the bottle."
"Good," Bond said with cold satisfaction. Maybe it wasn't the proper thing to say, but it was the truth.
Q's voice was rueful. "Oh, I don't regret it, not for a second. I only regret that I didn't manage it earlier, when I first pulled the gun." He dropped his gaze, his voice a husky whisper. "That quarter-hour made all the difference in the world for maman."
He slumped down in the chair, rattling off the medical terms. "Traumatic brain injury. Multiple haemorrhages to the corpus callosum, bifrontal regions, and left hippocampus and thalamus. She's disoriented, emotionally labile, and prone to confabulation. And of course the dense amnesias, as bad as any they've ever seen." He studied the bottom of his empty teacup again, his voice distant and meditative. "Trapped in her adolescence, like a butterfly in amber."
Bond scooted his chair closer to Q, putting his arm around his shoulders. Q sighed, leaning into Bond's shoulder.
"It's not your fault, Q. You did everything you could, more than should ever have been asked of you. You were still a child."
Q shook his head against Bond's shoulder in harsh negation.
"Maybe for someone else that would have been an excuse, but not for me," he mumbled into Bond's shirt. He drew back, his eyes fathomless. "I was never a child, Bond. I could out-think most adults by age eight. I knew what we were heading towards and I just thought...I thought I had more time. It took me too long to screw up my courage, to take action. I was a coward."
Bond reached out, cupping Q's cheek. "You're the furthest thing from a coward, Q."
Q sighed, his eyes drifting closed at Bond's touch. "I didn't save her."
Bond heard in his words the echo of many other statements. I should have seen Silva coming. If it means one less death of an operative on my conscience...
"You can't save everyone, Q."
"I know that, Bond." Q just sounded tired now. "But I could have saved her."
They walked back to the train hand-in-hand, settling on the platform bench.
"So Richard is your father?" Bond asked.
Q nodded. "My barrister tried to contact him when my case came before the Crown Court, hoping to get a supervision order for me. I told her not to bother, but she was young and idealistic. I'm sure she had some heart-warming scenario in mind — the bastard son welcomed back into the fold, saved him from incarceration. He told her to piss off. Said that I had violated the no-contact agreement and so he was no longer required to pay for my education. Not that it mattered a jot at that point."
"You know who he is?"
Q smiled wryly. "Of course. He's a dyed-in-the-wool Tory with a summer home in Majorca and a seat on the House of Lords. He has a beautiful blonde wife and beautiful blond children, not too much younger than I am."
"I'm surprised you haven't destroyed him."
Q laughed, bumping his shoulder against Bond's. "Trust me, I've thought about it." Bond could tell he was not entirely joking. Q shrugged. "But he was young then, too. He wasn't the first spoiled brat to get a girl up the duff and then try to wish the whole thing away. Hardly worth my wrath." Q grinned. "Which is considerable, I assure you. If I got started, I probably wouldn't be able to stop."
Bond grinned in return. "I have absolutely no doubt."
Q dozed for most of the ride home, leaning against Bond on the trains and letting him guide his stumbling steps through the stations. He was still yawning enormously when they made it back to his house, both of them toeing off their shoes in the entryway.
"Sorry." Q smiled sheepishly. "Still haven't shifted back from sleeping most of Saturday. Only caught an hour or two last night."
Bond smiled. "Go lie down. I'll wake you for dinner."
Q took a step and then turned around again. His eyes were cast downwards, color high in his cheeks. "You could come with me, you know. To lie down."
Bond felt the slow pull of inevitability. "Yes," he said. "I could."
He followed Q to the bedroom. Q lay down somewhat stiffly on his back, and Bond lay down next to him, on his side. Bond studied Q's profile as he stared at the ceiling for a moment, his adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed.
"No one alive knows as much about me as you do," Q said to the ceiling.
Bond felt both the power and the responsibility of that statement. Q's trust was not given easily, and yet he had chosen to give it to someone like Bond. When exactly had that happened, and when had Bond begun to trust Q so unreservedly in return? Could he say the same — did anyone alive know him better than Q? He didn't think so.
Q turned toward Bond, his eyes wide and expectant behind his glasses. They both moved a little closer until their bodies just skimmed each other, their faces so close that they were breathing each other's breath.
Bond traced a thumb across Q's cheekbone, feeling the prickle of day-old stubble on Q's fair skin. "Christ, Q," he breathed, his chest tight with some unnamed emotion. "I just —"
Q moved suddenly, pressing their lips together, fervent and awkward. Bond instinctively clutched him closer. He tilted his head into the kiss, holding back and allowing Q to explore. Q's tongue flickered out to taste Bond's lips, the tentative movement sending a rush of tenderness through Bond. Christ, he was sweet, so very sweet...
Q's hands were fisted in Bond's shirt, fingers digging in almost painfully. Bond opened his mouth, sucking gently on Q's tongue, inviting him in, and the soft little exclamation Q made sent a spike of lust straight to Bond's toes.
Bond growled into the kiss, feeling Q shudder against him. Then he was coaxing Q's mouth open in return, finally, finally sucking on that beautifully pink lower lip, tasting him fully — tea and warmth and Q.
Q was making soft eager little noises now, his hips pushing unconsciously against Bond's in small seeking movements. Bond swallowed every broken moan and sigh, delving his hands into that riotous hair and savoring the taste of Q, warm and soft and delicious.
Q surged forward, tipping Bond over almost onto his back, clambering half on top of him. His mouth was unpracticed and greedy, almost frantic as he licked deeper, sucking Bond's tongue as if he couldn't get close enough.
Bond felt arousal burning hot in his belly, on the edge of losing control. So this was Q in bed — fierce and focused and needy, all his calm detachment shattered. Just the idea of it hazed Bond's thoughts — lust and possessiveness and protectiveness in an almost unbearable tumult of emotion.
God, the things Bond wanted to do to Q. He wanted to take him apart, wanted to have him in every way possible. Wanted to lick him and suck him and fuck him until everything in Q's past was burned to ashes, until nothing in Q's world mattered except Bond. And then what? Bond's traitorous mind whispered. What happens next?
With a ragged gasp Bond took control of the kiss, slowly gentling it, tender and persuasive. Finally he pulled free, unable to help himself from grazing his teeth down Q's pale throat, placing a final sucking bite in the hollow of his neck and glorying in the hoarse sound that elicited.
He pulled Q's head against his chest, cradling him close, Q's glasses digging sharply into his sternum. Their bodies were pressed tightly together, both of them unashamedly hard. "Enough," Bond said roughly. "Enough for now."
There was a moment of silence in which only their ragged breathing was heard, and then Q pushed his head up. "What?" His eyes searched Bond's face, his brow furrowed. "Why, dammit?"
"Just..." Q looked unutterably beautiful, his already-chaotic hair touseled, his pink lips lush and wet from Bond's mouth. It's too much, Bond wanted to say, unnerved by what he was feeling. I don't know what I'm doing. "You're upset," he heard himself saying instead.
He felt Q's whole body tense for a moment before he shoved himself free, scrambling to sit up.
"I'm...upset?" he asked disbelievingly.
Fuck, Bond thought.
"Is that what this is?" Q's kiss-swollen lips pressed into a tight line. "Comfort?" The grey-green eyes grew flinty. "Pity?"
Bond pushed himself up to sitting also, his mind still spinning with the jumble of his thoughts. "Of course not."
"Then what?"
"I don't know," Bond snapped, all his emotional turmoil and confusion reaching a flashpoint into angry frustration. "What the hell do you want from me, Q?"
Q pushed himself off the bed, straightening his shirt, avoiding Bond's eyes. "Nothing," he said flatly. "I don't want anything from you."
"Bloody hell, Q, that's not —"
Bond's mobile buzzed in his pocket.
Q's jaw twitched. "You'd best answer that."
"No. We're finishing this."
"I'd say we're fairly well finished," Q said frostily.
"Like hell." Bond stood, taking a cautious step few steps closer. "Q, I care about you."
"Yeah. Well. Ta for that. Now tell me what comes after the 'but'..."
"Will you stop being so — so snide for a moment and just listen to me?" Bond let his breath out in a ragged sigh, trying to calm himself. He put his hand on Q's arm, thankful that Q didn't pull away.
"Q, you know what I do," Bond said, his voice low and rough. He pulled Q into his arms, muttering the next words into the skin of his neck. "You know what I am."
"Of course I know," Q said, the sharpness gone from his voice. "Do you really think it's your decision to protect me from that? That's — that's patronizing bullshit."
This time both their mobiles buzzed. Q took a step back. "Answer your mobile, Bond," he said more gently. "We can sort this out later."
"They can wait a few minutes."
"So can we." Q's eyes were somber as they searched Bond's face. "Take some time. Figure out what you want, Bond. I'll do the same."
Bond hesitated, sure there was something else he could say to fix this. Before he could think of anything, Q pulled his mobile from his pocket.
"Q here," he said, turning away. "Yes, R, I'm listening..."
Bond watched his slim back through the doorway before pulling his own mobile from his pocket. "007 here." he said grimly. "Go ahead."
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