Q-Branch was almost deserted — only R left behind, looking bored as she did a crossword. Q's office was dark and quiet. Bond started to turn, figuring Q had gone home already, when a noise from R caught his attention. She cleared her throat again with a significant glance at Bond, jerking her head in the direction of Q's door.

Bond looked more closely and noticed the electronic lock, still lit green. Q would never have left his office unsecured. With a puzzled look at R he padded forward, pushing the door cautiously open.

To his surprise Q was sitting at his desk in the dark, his head in his hands. As the door clicked open he raised his head. Even in the dim light cast from the larger room Bond could see that his eyes were red, his mouth twisted in distress. Bond felt a spike of concern, ice-cold in his chest.

"Q?" he asked.

Q made a smothered noise, half irritation and half despair, and pressed his palms to his eyes. "You were supposed to stay in Zurich overnight," he groaned. "Hardly fair to the lady, is it?"

Bond hesitated, finally deciding that although it wasn't a warm welcome, it wasn't a rejection either. Bond took a step into the room, turning on a small lamp before letting the door click shut behind him. "Genny is a professional, Q. She had no expectations."

He smelled it then, the sweet smoky odor of Scotch. He took a few steps closer, lifting the glass at Q's side and sniffing it.

"Yes, I've been drinking," Q said, the words muffled by his hands on his face. "I'm off the clock. I'm an adult. I'm entitled."

Bond held up the bottle of Scotch, considering. His brand, in fact, and he wondered where in the office Q had been hiding it. Judging by level in the bottle Q had done himself some damage given how rarely he drank, but probably not too much. Bond carefully set the bottle down well out of Q's reach.

"Pot. Kettle," Q mumbled, without even raising his head.

"Q, what..." Bond didn't even realize he had put his hand on Q's shoulder until Q jerked sharply away, half falling out of his chair. He stumbled back a clumsy step, trying to catch his balance and failing, before landing on his arse.

"Bloody hell," Bond said, feeling the sharp edge of protective rage starting to overtake him. Those kind of touches were commonplace between them, and Q hadn't reacted like that since before Sweden. "Q, tell me what happened right bloody now..."

Q looked up at Bond, wary. He seemed to briefly consider climbing back into his chair and then to abandon the idea as a bad job, instead pushing himself until his back was against the wall, pulling his knees up to his chest and resting his head on them. "It's nothing. It's stupid," he muttered despondently. "Just go away, I'm fine. I'll see you in the morning."

Bond clenched his fists, trying to think through the haze of rage and possessive concern. He had already been on edge, unnerved by what happened in Zurich, and now, seeing Q like this seemed to be unleashing something dark and fierce within him. "You are demonstrably not fine, Q." He gritted his teeth, but couldn't hold the words back any longer. "Did someone touch you? Because god help me..."

"I asked him to!" Q said defiantly, finally raising his head. The words seemed to surprise them both equally, Q's grey-green eyes growing wide behind the frames of his glasses as Bond felt the breath punch out of his lungs.

Q ran a hand through his hair, biting his lip, before words started falling from him in a haphazard rush. "It was just a kiss, and I asked him to. And I hated it, and I couldn't face the Tube so I came back here and got drunk and cried, because that's exactly the kind of pathetic little knob-end that I am, okay? Are you happy now? Bloody hell!"

Christ, Q was hissing and spitting at Bond like a cornered kitten, but the shame and self-loathing in his words drained the anger from Bond as suddenly as it had appeared.

Bond took off his suit jacket, draping it over the arm of the desk chair. Slowly, deliberately, he moved to Q's side, sinking down the wall until he was sitting a handsbreadth away from Q.

He took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. "Who was he?" he asked gently.

Q leaned his head back against the wall, closing his eyes with a sigh. "Just some harmless bloke who's been making calf's-eyes at me at the coffee shop for ages." His eyes cracked open just a bit. "You're not allowed to kill him," he added acerbically.

Bond waited until Q opened his eyes fully before slowly moving his hand, taking Q's cold fingers in his own and squeezing them. "And why did you do it?"

"It wasn't...retaliation, if that's what you're thinking," Q said bitterly. "I know what you do for your missions isn't...personal. I'm not an idiot."

"Why, then?"

Q's fingers twitched in Bond's hand but then he tightened his grip as if gathering strength from Bond despite himself. He turned his head away, speaking so softly Bond could barely hear him. "Because I was a ridiculous enough git to think that maybe I had been...fixed. That if you could touch me, if I could like that, then maybe others could too. And I was completely fucking wrong. It's just you. So, you know..." Without looking at Bond he rested his head back against the wall, closing his eyes again. "Fuck. My. Life."

Bond was definitely going to hell, because nothing which caused Q such pain should ever make him feel so immensely, unbelievably happy. Just me, his mind growled in satisfaction. Mine.

He tamped down on that instinct, scooting a careful few inches closer until his shoulder bumped Q's. He relaxed as he felt Q lean into that pressure. With a smothered sound of relief Q rested his head on Bond's shoulder. Q made no protest as Bond transferred the grip of Q's fingers to his left hand. Bond lifted his right arm, wrapping it around Q's slim shoulders, gathering him in closer.

They sat in the dark like that for awhile, breathing in synchrony, letting some of the tension ease from them both. Q still held Bond's left hand tightly while Bond let his right hand trace through Q's hair.

"Is it so bad?" Bond finally said. "Having me be the only one?"

Q's shoulders twitched in some semblance of a shrug. "That can't possibly be what you want." He sounded desolate; utterly certain that the decision had already been made.

Bond had had felt this sensation before — falling off a bridge, the rushing water below, uncertain where he would land. He took a deep breath, and let it out slowly, feeling his heart stutter in his chest.

"What if it is?" he asked.

Q lifted his head so suddenly that he almost rapped Bond on the chin. "What?" His beautiful eyes were wide, searching Bond's as he tried to decipher his meaning.

"You asked me to think about what I want, and I did. In Zurich, and all the way back here, to you." Bond felt exhausted and vulnerable but he held Q's gaze, letting him see whatever he would see. "I'm telling you that this — that you — that this is what I want."

"You want...to be with me," Q repeated disbelievingly. "For how long?"

Bond sucked in a sharp breath. That stung, probably more than it should have. "Dammit, Q. For as long as you can stand me."

"How can that possibly work?" Q pulled away, running a hand through his hair in agitation. "Christ, Bond, you're accustomed to —" his gesture was an inarticulate flail "— athletic sex with gorgeous women on five continents, and I can't even fucking accept a hug without jumping half out of my skin." Q buried his head in his hands. "This was a bad decision," he muttered frantically. "We shouldn't have let it get this far, even. It's bollixing up the way we work, and..."

Q's breath was coming in short pants, and behind his hands his face was starting to look even paler.

"Q," Bond interrupted sharply. "You're panicking."

"I'm fucking entitled!" Q snapped.

Bond reached out, gently prying Q's hands away from his face.

"Come here," he said firmly.

He wound his arms around Q and twisted, ignoring Q's surprised yelp and the protest from his own healing ribs, not stopping until Q was straddling his lap. One hand at the small of Q's back and the other at the back of his head, he leaned forward, kissing Q softly, gentling him with hands and lips until Q's body finally eased. Only then did he pull back, pressing his forehead to Q's.

"I've seen you pull a corpse off of a bomb and not panic," he chided teasingly.

"Yes. Well." Q ducked his face down into Bond's neck, hiding, the frames of his glasses biting sharply into the skin. "This is scarier."

Bond's smile faded at that. He pushed his fingers into the chaotic mess of Q's hair, stroking. "Why?"

Q breathed softly for a few moments and then finally raised his head, eyes damp and serious, shining brightly even in the dim light. "Bond. Can you really be satisfied with...with whatever I can give you? If not, no matter how it might feel now..." Q's mouth twisted. "I think it's better to stop this now, before it starts."

"Before it starts?" Bond shook his head in disbelief. "Q, this started a long time ago, and I'm well and truly buggered now." Zurich had only been a tipping point. Suddenly, starkly, Bond had realized exactly how much Q had come to mean to him, but their connection had been growing for months now. After too much time spent resisting the inevitable Bond had finally accepted it, his certainty growing every moment that he held Q in his arms.

"As for being satisfied...Christ, Q, I'm happy just watching telly with you. But when it comes to it I'm a greedy bastard. I'll take whatever you're comfortable giving, but no more." Bond smiled. "Besides," he teased. "I thought you had a vivid imagination."

He pulled Q an extra inch closer, grinding their bodies together briefly, his voice lowering to a deep growl. "If you don't feel like being touched, I can touch myself for you, or you for me." He nipped at Q's earlobe, feeling him shudder. "I can lick you until you fall apart underneath my mouth," he murmured hoarsely into Q's ear. "Fuck it, you can tie my hands and touch me. We can do whatever we choose, Q, and it'll be more than enough for me."

Bond felt something expanding inside him, making his breath come rapid and tight — joy and fear and tenderness, everything he had suppressed for so long suddenly breaking free. Saying the words out loud seemed to make real something Bond could barely allow himself to hope. They really could have this.

This time Q was the one who surged forward, a smothered inarticulate noise escaping him as he pressed his lips against Bond's mouth, clumsy and frantic. "I want this," he was murmuring in between the kisses. "I want this."

Bond drew his knees up, squeezing Q tightly, too tightly probably, but Q was strong and Q was brilliant and — in this moment, at least — Q was his.

"Take me home with you?" Bond asked, his voice rough with emotion.

Q smiled, soft and wide, his eyes glinting emerald-bright with happiness. "Yes."

[Please review! :-D]