To my BETAs for keeping me from giving into despair this past week. I am so grateful to you all rawr-balrog, Wwwhat, and obfuscatress for making this chapter possible.
Also a thank you to Jay for the music recommendation!
When Bond returned to London, he was more exhausted than he could ever remember, which made him wonder if he truly was just too old for all of this. His body ached and burned at every joint, with every breath, and his ear throbbed with each heartbeat. In truth, Bond was lucky that he didn't lose the shredded remains of his ear to infection, though he would have an impressive bit of scar tissue there when the wound healed.
He had the taxi drop him off at his flat instead of going straight to MI6. He would much rather sleep for an eternity than get dressed down by Mallory for a mission gone wrong, than to have to face Q again after the conversation they had. The words kept turning round and round in Bond's mind, making it hard to focus, let alone get a good nights' sleep.
Bond stepped into the lift and reached out to press the button for the fourth floor, sighing as he shook water from his coat and waited for the doors to close. Just as the panel pinged, Bond heard the stairwell door slam open, then closed. Someone in a large grey coat walked past the lifts, their hood already drawn up against the downpour outside. Bond could not tell if they were male or female, but he did not even care about that, because all of his attention focussed on the item held in person's hand left hand.
It was a violin case.
"Wait-" Bond began to say, and held out his arm to halt the lift. But he wasn't quite fast enough to stop the door from falling shut, to see the person's face as they turned round to see who had called out to them. The lift rattled as it ascended to the fourth floor. Bond leant against the wall and wondered what had made him do that. He and 507 had a silent agreement of sorts. There were the notes and the gifts and the music and nothing more than that. 507 would forever be a number to him: an untouchable thing.
And even if Bond ever did have the chance, would he take it?
Bond thought of the music. He thought about ruining that, ruining the person who played scores so beautifully in the night. It undoubtedly made him think of Q, whom he had also ruined with his selfishness.
No Bond thought. He couldn't do such a thing, even if he felt more connected to this person by unspoken words, by notes that sounded like snowfall and rain and yearning. It was just as he had felt connected to Q, but instead it was through their words: the banter, the borderline fighting over the comms, the calmness of Q's voice guiding him safely home. And now those words were gone.
He couldn't let the music disappear from his life too. The prospect of that endless nothingness was too much to bear. So he latched onto the safe route, the one of cowardice, because all he could hear were Q's words going round and round in his head. Painful, sharp things that reminded him how cruel he truly was. A monster of his own invention.
I will never deserve either of you.
Bond got a slap on the wrist after Montenegro, and as punishment, Mallory sent him on an assignment so boring that Bond could have cried. After two weeks doing reconnaissance in Andorra, he returned to London, and met with Moneypenny in the lobby of Mallory's office.
"He's busy, you'll have to debrief later," Eve informed him.
"I'm here now," Bond said, and went for the door.
"I'd leave it. He dragged Q and Tanner in there about an hour ago. They're locked up tight," she explained.
Bond's chest tightened at the mention of Q, standing just on the other side of the door.
"Bond," Moneypenny said, catching his attention. "Let's get lunch. What do you say?"
With nothing to do until Mallory was available, Bond agreed, and Eve whisked him away to another tiny cafe with a pretentious sounding name. Bond hadn't even put in an order when Eve pushed his menu down on the table and leant forward to ask:
"What's going on?"
"I'm not sure what you're talking about," Bond answered, carefully neutral.
"Oh, shut up. You know perfectly well what I'm talking about," she said. "What's going on between you and Q? And don't lie."
"Lie about what?"
"You think I don't know what happened on New Year's? After I painstakingly set it up?"
Bond met her intense gaze, but could find no words. When he thought about it, Moneypenny had been patently obvious about the entire thing, but Bond hadn't seen it at the time. It just made him all the more certain that Eve was wasted in the office, not reaching her full potential out in the field. Almost as if she could read his thoughts, she breathed out an annoyed sigh.
"Talk," she said.
"There isn't much to say."
The server came and Moneypenny ordered for both of them, without even asking what Bond wanted. Once he was out of earshot, she turned her attention back to Bond.
"Q's been… I don't know…different. Not good different, either. He's listless, distracted. Barely will talk to me when I visit," Eve explained with a frown. "So I'll ask again, what's going on?"
"It's complicated."
"Complicated."
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Because it is," Bond said.
"That's not an answer," Eve replied. "You're both obviously suffering from this."
"I'm not."
"You are. I can tell."
Bond looked out the window.
"Look, it's none of my business, but why not give it a try? You both get on and everyone who looks at the two of you for more than five minutes can see that you want to tear each other's clothes off."
"We work together."
"We work together," Eve said, raising her eyebrow pointedly.
"But we're different."
"How?"
Bond stared at her, because he didn't have an answer for that. To be honest, he hadn't thought much of their night in Macau. There had been too many other burdens on his mind after Skyfall to think on it. But now, with Eve across from him, Bond thought of that night. It had been an unexpected and exciting affair. Eve hadn't told him her name, and Bond didn't much care at the time, too consumed with admiring the tone of her flesh against the silk sheets of his bed. They had fun and it was enjoyable, and if Eve had asked him, Bond would have done it again. But after Skyfall, she gave no indication that she wanted things to progress between them. And in all honesty, it was probably not the most healthy decision to have a continued affair with the woman who killed you.
"Don't look at me like that," Eve said. "We had sex, Bond. Adult people do, you know. And we get on fine."
"It's different," Bond said again.
"Why?" she pressed.
When Bond didn't say anything, Eve's expression changed into something soft.
"Oh," she said.
"What?" Bond asked.
"Because you're in love with him."
Bond could not muster the breath to deny it.
"Never would have thought James Bond would fall in love with a man," Eve said. "Now I've seen everything."
"Gender has nothing to do with it," Bond replied. He had been with men before, both for work and pleasure, but when it came to an emotional connection, a person's physical body did not matter to him so much. Bond had always been weak for the smart ones, the witty ones with too much fire, too much pride, and all the confidence in the world. Vesper had been that way, and he had loved her. M had been that way too, and Bond had loved her just as much, though in a slightly different way. And then Q had come along with his snark and his enigmatic smile, telling him to put his back into it, and, Christ, he had been smitten from the start.
"So fine. Gender has nothing to do with it. You're still in love with him and you're not doing anything about it," Eve said.
"It's for the best."
"You martyr. That's what this is about? You don't want to hurt him?"
"I don't particularly have the highest life expectancy," Bond answered.
"And you think he doesn't know that?" Eve retorted. "In case you haven't noticed, you're both consenting adults. He knows what he's getting into. It sounds like you're the problem."
"Me?"
"Yes, you! Both of you see the mutual attraction, but you're the one preventing anything from happening."
"That's not true," Bond replied, and looked down at the table. "I did try to change things. I asked if we could start over, but he said no."
"Well, no wonder after you stomped all over his heart."
"I did it to protect him."
"You did it to protect yourself."
When Bond glanced up at her, he saw the seriousness in Eve's expression and didn't know what to think.
"Maybe you don't deserve him after all," she said.
"Maybe you're right," Bond replied.
Eve kicked him under the table. Hard.
"Oh shut up! Swallow your pride and make things right!"
"You make it sound so easy."
"That's because it's not hard. Well, maybe it will be for you. It does involve a bit of grovelling…"
"Eve-"
"Don't even start. You're going to fix it and I'm going to help you."
"Why?
"Because," Eve said, straightening the front of her frock, "I'm a romantic."
Bond raised his eyebrow at her.
"Really, I am. I think you'd be perfect for one another. Hence why I've been trying to set you two up for ages…And to think you needed the help, after being so close all this time…"
Moneypenny's mobile went off before Bond could ask her exactly what she meant. When she answered it, she almost immediately became very serious and answered in a few curt words that she was on her way.
"We're going to have to take this to go."
They had a mole somewhere in MI6.
Their leak had compromised 004, who had been close to finishing the mission in Montenegro that Bond had left behind weeks ago.
And now, they'd lost contact with him, somewhere in the Adriatic Sea.
"Communication was voluntarily cut off over ninety minutes ago, but his tracker fell off the grid within the past fifteen minutes," Eve informed Bond, as they made their way down to Q branch. Bond knew what that meant: either 004 had ripped out the tracker himself for some reason or it had been forcibly removed. Either way, something had gone wrong.
The department was a flurry of activity: over a dozen screens rapidly flickering with information and images, the murmur of twice as many voices exchanging intel between themselves and those on the other ends of their headsets. Q was at the front of the room with R; Mallory lurked behind them with an stormy expression.
"It's over," Mallory said, loudly enough that a lull overtook the room momentarily.
"It's not over until we retrieve 004," Q answered levelly, without looking at him. "R, summon Medevac now. Any one of ours that might be in the area, go."
Voices picked up again and fingers resumed typing as R went to do as Q asked, but Mallory stood in her way and put his back to the room. Bond didn't know what was going on, but he didn't like the way R looked at Mallory, then glanced back at Q as if uncertain. Something unspoken moved between them, and when R turned round to face Mallory again, there was all fire in her eyes, in the words that Bond clearly heard over the din.
"With all respect, sir, no."
Without heeding Moneypenny's warning hand to stand down, Bond went to them, catching the tail end of Mallory's words.
"-an order, do you understand?"
R didn't say anything, her gaze focussed on Bond as he approached.
"What's going on?" Bond intervened.
"This is none of your concern 007," Mallory said as he rounded on Bond, giving R the chance to slip away to her computer.
"It is now," Bond said, ignoring the prick of Eve's fingernails digging into his arm. She had followed him, most likely to keep him from doing anything rash.
"007-" Mallory started to say, but was interrupted by the Quartermaster.
"Please take the fighting off the floor. I'm already at war at the moment and don't need any other distractions," Q said to them, not even sparing a glance over his shoulder in their direction. His fingers were too busy working at his keyboard, almost in sync with R. On the main screen, there were fuzzy images that kept appearing and then reappearing in different resolution and quality.
"Quartermaster, you will not endanger the lives of Station T staff for one agent," Mallory said.
"One agent who not only has valuable information that we've been mining for weeks now, but who also happens to be one of our own," Q retorted, just as a ripple of static came across the intercom. Immediately, everyone paused, waiting with baited breath as Q pressed his microphone closer to his mouth.
"004, do you copy?"
A silence followed that stretched infinitely, one that Bond knew all too well.
"004, do you copy?" Q asked again, a little louder, with something strained in his voice as he moved screens on the main wall, focussing on a high quality satellite image of the area, where the smoking, broken pieces of a vessel were strewn in the sea. A recent explosion, within the last few minutes judging from the fact the weather hadn't put out the flames entirely.
"I've still got no vitals, sir," offered a tech.
"That doesn't mean anything," Q said, just as the static cut out and the communication went dead.
The quiet that followed was near deafening, until a minion timidly broke it with a shaky:
"Sir…maybe we should-"
"No, we are not losing 004 on my watch," Q said, pulling up a time clock on the main wall, which began counting down from 00:14:59:59. "The human body can survive only twenty minutes in those waters, less so if injured. Let's do this in fifteen."
"You will not," Mallory said.
Finally, Q turned to face him, and Bond saw a fierceness that he had never witnessed from him before.
"I am the Quartermaster of MI6 and 004 is under my care. I will do all in my power to ensure his safe return," Q replied coolly, as he turned back to his computer.
"But not at the risk to the lives of others," Mallory countered. "One life for a Medevac and diver crew is not practical. I won't let you be the cause of unnecessary deaths."
The entire room was looking on now, Bond too, unable to do anything but listen as Q adamantly defied the head of MI6.
"This is my call," Q said.
"No. It's mine," Mallory answered. "Double-Ohs know the risks of their profession. They understand what happens when a mission goes wrong. We cannot afford the resources to save them in every situation."
"Just because they know the risks, doesn't mean you can justify their abandonment at your convenience," Q replied. "This conversation is over. R, what's the status of that Medevac?"
"You will stop this now, or I'll have no choice but to remove you from your position," Mallory said firmly, and looked round at everyone in the room. "That goes for everyone who abets him."
Q turned a fraction, regarding Mallory with an expression that could freeze rushing water. He was utterly still for half a moment, and then he viciously ripped his ID from where it had been clipped to his cardigan. He threw it at Mallory, at his feet, a clear resignation, and then turned back to his screens.
"I want Medevac now," Q continued, as if Mallory had not interrupted him. "Did anyone hear anything from any of the ships in the area? Wasn't the Voyager on patrol in those waters?"
"Negative, sir," said the timid minion from before. "In harbour at Pula for repairs."
"What about Coast Guard?" Q asked.
"Nothing within 100 kilometers," replied another.
"Page them. See if any of them can make it to this location within the time frame," Q responded, then continued: "Are there any civilian vessels within range?"
"I'm not getting a read on anyone else in the area," said another voice. "Radar isn't showing anything."
Bond was close enough to hear Q softly swear under his breath.
"What's the ETA on the chopper?" Q asked R.
"Station T has a full crew at Durres. They'll be in the air in ten minutes," she replied back.
"Not fast enough, make it seven," Q answered.
Everyone stared at Q like he had just asked for the impossible.
"They're professionals. They can do it. Relay the message," Q ordered, and R tapped at her headset to connect with their squad on land. Bond watched without moving, without blinking, as Q pulled up seemingly a thousand different windows on the main board.
"Station T Medevac is in the air," R reported after three minutes.
"Relay them the last transmitted coordinates," Q told her.
The next few moments were hushed and tense, with Bond looking on from his unobtrusive spot in the back of the room. Mallory stood near the front of the room, giving Q space, but at the same time maintaining an expression that was patently furious. Q did not seem to notice, moving with a speed that somehow held control and grace. Or at least, the facade of it. Bond could see the tension in his shoulders, like he had seen it that day they had last spoken face to face, and Bond knew that Q was worried. He was afraid for the life of his agent, the person he had been entrusted to protect, the person that Mallory would have given up on without a thought. But there was Q saying not on my watch, because just like with Bond, he had something like promise in his voice when he spoke to his agents, something that assured them I'll get you home no matter what.
And Bond knew then that he was very much in love.
"Report," Q said into his headset.
We're still en route, HQ, came the response over the intercom.
"The ocean currents are moving east. He should be within sixty kilometers of the last known coordinates," Q said.
Copy.
It seemed that the entire room held its breath for the next few minutes, watching as the clock on the wall ticked down rapidly. Some of the technicians already looked resigned to the inevitable outcome, taking their headsets off in a gesture of defeat. But Bond paid them no mind; he was looking at Q and only Q.
Q who was not giving up.
The same Q who would never give up on him.
Bond knew the odds, and Q did too, but he had this dedication, this unwavering faith in his agents. It was then that Bond realised that Q did this every day, that he felt responsible for their lives every moment of every waking day.
Q couldn't exactly promise, but he worked with every ounce of his being to make it as close to one as he possibly could.
HQ, we've got visual on the wreckage.
A gentle murmur rose up from the minions, who were looking at the large screen on the wall hopefully. Another moment, then two passed, before the intercom came to life again.
HQ, we now have visual on two unidentified males. We're sending a rescue diver now.
"Copy. Keep us informed."
The room was stifling in the silence. Moneypenny clung to his arm the whole time. People had their heads bowed, perhaps in prayer, or something like it. There were two repeated attempts to level the chopper over the stormy sea, and Bond knew that by the third attempt, they would have to pull their rescue diver back; it just wasn't worth the risk. But the third time was the charm, it seemed because the pilot gave the good word that they had reached the lone survivors and were pulling them up.
And then-
HQ, agent has been recovered.
Before Q could ask, the pilot continued:
Not to worry, HQ. This stubborn bastard isn't going anywhere. We'll bring him to base for further medical treatment, but it looks like he's going to be okay.
The cheer that went up was deafening, so loud that Bond couldn't quite hear the rush of thanks spill from Q's lips, or make out the pilot's returning answer about the other person retrieved with 004. It was only after, when Q cut the communication and turned to look round the room that his eyes landed momentarily on Bond. He seemed relieved down to his bones, smiling tiredly, but as if everything in the world was alright.
But it wasn't.
Mallory's expression was frigid, unmoving even when two agents appeared in full tactical gear at the entrance. The minions didn't seem to notice the agents, didn't seem to notice Q slipping away through the crowd of his own volition towards them, with Mallory following in his wake. Bond made to go after them, but Eve held him back.
"There's nothing you can do," she said.
"He saved him," Bond replied.
"I know," Eve said. "That will work in his favour...later, but not now."
She walked him out of TSS and to a quiet alcove somewhere on the seventh floor, where they drank shite coffee in a poorly lit kitchen, their lunches long forgotten.
"I just can't believe he'd stand up to Mallory like that," Bond said.
"Kid's got a spine. He doesn't let people walk all over him," Eve replied with a smile. "That's why I like him."
"He could lose his job," Bond said.
"Do you think he cares about that?"
"Do you think he doesn't?"
Eve put her coffee down.
"Do you know what happened...during that whole mess with Silva?" she asked, and at Bond's look, she continued: "Bill was with him...when you asked Q to lay a false trail. Mallory came in after that and asked what Q was doing, even though he knew from the start what they were up to. Do you know Q began to lie? To protect you?"
"He wasn't-" Bond couldn't say M, because Mallory would never be M, so he settled on, "-in charge."
"Not exactly, but he was close enough," Eve said. "And Q knew he could lose his job, but he did it anyway."
Bond looked away from her.
"He's a good person," Bond said.
Too good for me.
"That's true. But you know, so are you."
Bond laughed.
"I'm not a nice man," Bond said.
"No, but you can be a good person, when you feel like it," Eve said teasingly.
"That's the difference, though. I'm not a good person. Not all the time."
"You were going to go after him, weren't you?"
"Yes."
"Well, then. You're a good person when it counts most."
"But is that enough?"
Eve swirled her coffee in her mug.
"Sometimes, that's all we've got."
Bond spent the rest of the night waiting in the hallway outside of Mallory's office.
Eve had gone home long ago, as had the majority of the staff, and the building was dark and still around him. It was near eleven that evening when the door down the hall finally opened and Q appeared. He looked haggard, as if he had just lost a war, but he kept up his head and walked with a purpose that made Bond admire his strength.
When Q saw him, he didn't smile.
"I've been suspended without pay until further notice," Q said, before Bond could ask.
"Congratulations," Bond replied. "I think that calls for a celebration. Dinner?"
Q looked very tired, so much that Bond wanted nothing more than to take him into his arms and hold him.
"Bond…I think...I'd rather be alone, if that's alright. I won't be good company," Q replied.
"You don't need to be good company," Bond said. "Any company at all is fine with me. As long as it's yours."
At first, Bond thought that Q might fight him, but his shoulders drooped and his head dropped, as if he were shedding armour, and Bond did not give it another thought. He put his arms round Q and embraced him. It had been months now since New Year's, since the last time they had been like this, and it was just as perfect, if not more so, to feel Q hug him back.
"We shouldn't," Q said against his shoulder, but made no effort to move away.
"You're not MI6. Not tonight."
Q looked up at him, all soft lashes and sharp cheekbones and endlessly dark, dark eyes.
"No, I'm not."
Bond kissed him.
And Q kissed back.
They went to a hotel, because it was closer than his flat. At least, that's what Bond told himself. He didn't want to admit that the thought of Q in his bed, tangled in his sheets was too strong an image, and one that would haunt him after this was over when everything went back to normal. The hotel was neutral ground. It was safer this way for the both of them. And Q didn't seem to mind and he didn't invite Bond back to his, so that was that.
The room was lavish, but Bond barely noticed. He was too concerned with kissing Q the moment they had closed and locked the door, too preoccupied with getting Q out of his clothes and into bed. Despite this, Bond didn't rush things. He wanted to savour it, but he wanted to do it with no boundaries between them, no shirts or trousers or anything to get in the way.
When they were bare, Bond slowed, taking his time to learn every angle and curve that comprised Q's body, so very masculine, but at the same time displaying tantalising hints of femininity. He particularly liked the place just under Q's jaw, right below his ear. His skin smelt sweetly of something earthy, like pine, and it was only there and the inside of his wrists and the tips of his fingers that shared that scent. It was intoxicating in ways that perfume and cologne could never achieve, almost as intoxicating as the way Q breathed out James when Bond made an impressive love mark in that fragrant place just below his ear.
"Tell me your name," Bond said, as he traced the ridges of Q's ribs with his fingertips, sweeping them down to the hollow of his hip.
"You know I can't tell you," Q answered.
"You're not MI6 now," Bond reminded him.
"But I might be tomorrow."
Bond looked at him, at his tousled hair and blown out pupils and kiss-swollen lips. His beauty was captivating and Bond felt nothing short of bewitched by him, by the skin and sinew and blood and bone that made him, the secrets that still lingered behind his eyes, his smile.
"Tell me."
Q kissed him instead, and it was only when he pulled away that he pressed a name against Bond's lips, one that Bond repeated back to him on his next exhale. When they parted for air, they smiled at each other, at their shared exchange, and Q looked as if a heavy burden had been lifted from him in that moment.
They lay there for some time learning one another, at times occupying the entirety of the bed, while at others, small parts of it. Their gentle exploration eventually led to a palpable desperation, one that Bond wanted to satisfy as much as he didn't, not wanting to let this end just yet. But after an hour elapsed, Q began keening, begging Bond to touch him, and he wasn't about to deprive Q of the one thing he asked.
They didn't have anything to proceed properly, and even if they did, Q admitted to not being physically or hygienically prepared for that level of intimacy, so they compromised. Bond lost track of time after that, immersed with all five senses in Q, in their shared pleasure. He wanted to tell Q everything in that moment. He wanted to say how he felt, make promises he knew he could never keep, because Q's fingers clutched at him like he was the only thing keeping him in the world and his eyes looked at him like he was the only thing that mattered and Bond loved him to the point where it was painful.
But Bond couldn't manage the words, because he knew they were empty promises, and he didn't want to tarnish that moment between them. So he kissed Q until they were both gasping, then trembling as their warm spend cooled between their bodies. Once the euphoria began to fade, Bond cleaned them up and then returned to bed, pulling the duvet over them.
"I should go," Q said, as he settled more comfortably against Bond.
"Stay a while," Bond replied, moving his fingers through Q's hair.
"But then I'll never have the strength to go," he murmured.
"You say it like it's a bad thing," Bond said.
"It might be," Q replied, pressing the tips of his fingers against Bond's chest, where he tapped along with Bond's heartbeats.
"It might not be," Bond said.
"Okay," Q said, and nuzzled at his chin.
"I'll stay."
When Bond woke the next morning, it was to Q, still sleeping beside him.
It felt right.
Bond watched him for some time, matching their breathing until they were in unison. His thoughts were quiet and peaceful, no longer a tumultuous storm that raged without end. His soul felt it too; for the first time in a long time, the wounds left behind by Vesper and M and so many others didn't ache and bleed and fester. There was a serenity in that moment, sharing the same bed with Q, the same sheets, the same air. There was no past or future; no pain or suffering or grief. There was only the two of them, as if they were the last living beings in the entire world.
All those lonely nights and wasted days; all that frantic, desperate searching. And this is what he had wanted all along: to wake up beside someone he trusted completely. It was terrifying and exhilarating all at once, even more so when Q opened his eyes and looked at him, because how Q reacted to seeing him when he first woke would be the thing that mattered most.
Q smiled, and Bond felt his heart stop.
"Hi," Q said.
"Hi," Bond replied, and Q turned his face into the pillow as if embarrassed.
"I didn't mean to stay," Q admitted, a carryover in their conversation from the previous night.
"You don't have to leave," Bond said.
Q peeked at him through his fringe.
"It's morning," Q said.
"It's still early."
"But it's tomorrow."
Bond traced his fingers along the slope of Q's arm.
"It is," he said, with some regret.
"I've got to go," Q replied, but made no move to get up, to stop Bond's touch. Bond wondered if he felt it too, the rightness.
"Let's call for breakfast," Bond said.
Q smiled something a bit sad.
"A fantastic shag and breakfast? No wonder the ladies love you," Q said, but Bond could see him striving to return to their spitfire routine of carefree banter.
"And what about you?" Bond asked, and Q's gaze shifted from him to the place beyond his shoulder, where the weak morning light peeked gently through the curtains.
"You should have asked me that when it was still yesterday," Q said, pulling away from Bond to take up his glasses off the bedside cabinet and get out of bed.
Without the duvet to hide him and the darkness to cast him in mystery, Bond saw Q clearly for the first time. His mouth and hands and tongue knew Q intimately, but his eyes had yet to have that pleasure. His body was just as beautiful in daylight as it had been by moonlight, and Bond wished he had more than just a few hours to truly explore him, adore him. There were markers of Bond's presence, a single night upon the calendar of his skin. It would not be long before they would fade and then disappear entirely. Bond wondered if the memory would fade with time, too.
"It doesn't have to be this way," Bond said, when Q emerged from the toilet and began gathering up his clothes.
Q didn't pause in getting dressed, swiftly hiding the reminders of their lovemaking with the band of his trousers, the collar of his wrinkled shirt.
"We both know that's not true," Q said.
Bond said Q's name, his real name, and Q closed his eyes as if in pain.
"Don't…"
Bond stopped at Q's plea.
"Don't make me regret it," Q implored quietly. "I don't want to regret it."
"I don't want to either," Bond said, sitting up in bed, "but I also don't want to regret that we only had one night."
"You're the one who made the decision," Q reminded him.
"And I'm the one taking it back."
"You can't just take it back."
"Why not?"
"It doesn't work that way," Q answered, seemingly exasperated. Already the exhaustion from the previous day had begun to seep into his expression, and Bond hated the way it pulled Q farther away from him.
"Why not?" Bond asked again.
"It just doesn't."
They stared at each other for a long time, until Q sighed and his shoulders slumped in defeat.
"It won't ever work. You know that and so do I. It's pointless to do this to ourselves."
Bond remembered his reasons clearly, the reasons that Eve considered to be the mark of a martyr, but they were honest: he didn't want to hurt Q with his death, with his selfishness. But now, Bond could see that there were a thousand other ways he could hurt the man in front of him: with his drinking, his infidelity, his depression, his anger, his tendency to go off the grid for weeks at a time after a mission to unwind, his insensitivity, his self-imposed distance... Q didn't deserve any of it; Bond had lost sight of that along the way, lost himself in Q's touch, his kiss, the thought that tomorrow would never come.
In the harsh light of day, Bond realised that he had done what he had wanted to keep from happening all along. He had hurt Q again and again, and Q was standing in front of him now, still hurting because of Bond. And that was how it always would be if they let this continue.
"I'm sorry," Bond said.
Q's arms came round him and held him, pressing Bond's cheek against his stomach, where he could breathe him in for the last time. It made Bond wish for just a moment that he was someone else entirely, some ordinary bloke who, by some extraordinary means, got Q to fall in love with him. Q held him tighter, as if reading his thoughts, and leant down to rest his cheek against the top of Bond's head, his fingers carding through short blonde hair.
"I'm sorry too," he said.
Bond put his arms round Q's middle and held him there, not wanting the moment to end.
"You're still not MI6 today, or tomorrow, and probably the day after... We don't have to do this, not right now," Bond said. "So stay."
"We can't just pretend-"
"Stay."
Q released him and moved back, but Bond wouldn't let him out of the loose circle of his arms.
"We shouldn't do this," Q said, seriously.
"I know," Bond replied, "but I've never been one to play by the rules."
"No, you haven't."
A flicker of a smile graced Q's lips, and then Bond's as Q unbuttoned his shirt and let it drop to the floor.
"No regrets?" Q asked
"No regrets," Bond agreed, as Q moved over him and they fell back into bed.
This happiness was only temporary, only fleeting, but in that moment, it was enough.
After an extravagant breakfast, Bond called downstairs and convinced the desk that he needed the room a little longer, and charged the cost of it to his card without a second thought.
They took an indulgent bath together, then dried off and stayed in bed for the rest of the day, not doing much aside from relishing in the warmth of skin on skin, the press of lips against lips. Bond had never been with someone this way, so intimate that it transcended sex. Even the days with Vesper hadn't been like this. Their life together had been brief and physical, nothing like the closeness he and Q shared that afternoon, when Bond was content enough to put sex on the backburner, to have one arm round Q's waist as he counted his eyelashes.
It was only when the shadows on the wall lengthened that Bond realised how much time had passed. Then Q's mobile rang, and Bond knew that meant their time was up, that they had to go out and face the world again.
"This is Q," he answered, sitting up in bed. Bond sat up with him and began pressing kisses down his spine, trying to listen in surreptitiously. But the conversation lasted only a few seconds, ending with Q saying: "Understood."
He rang off and dropped the phone on the bed between them.
"I have a review tomorrow morning," Q said.
"Is that what they're calling it?" Bond asked, dragging his lips from their place between Q's shoulder blades to the nape of his neck.
"It's better than inquisition," Q replied, tilting his head as Bond went for that spot under his jaw that he particularly liked, that he'd marked the previous evening with a small, purple bruise. He breathed Q in, the scent that reminded him of a forest just after a rainstorm, and it calmed all his anger towards Mallory and MI6.
"You were in the right. There's no case against you," Bond said.
"The only thing they can get me on is insubordination," Q answered, turning to press his forehead against Bond's. "I'm not worried."
"No?"
"No."
Bond smiled at Q's confidence, but Q did not smile back. He seemed distracted, conflicted, as if the call had brought him crashing back to reality far too soon for his liking.
"I should go," Q said.
"The day isn't over yet," Bond replied. "Dinner?"
Q kissed him.
"Tomorrow," Q answered.
"You might be Six tomorrow," Bond said.
"I might be," Q said.
"And if you are?"
Q slipped away from him to get dressed.
"Tomorrow," Q said again, a promise in his eyes, in the hint of his smile.
And although Bond did not want to wait-wanted to stay in that bed in that perfect slice of time carved out for just the two of them-he had to take what he could get.
He reached for Q's hand and kissed the backs of his knuckles and said:
"Tomorrow, then."
Bond arranged the place and time with Q, then saw him off in a taxi. After he was out of sight, Bond took his own taxi to a supermarket near his flat, where he did some shopping for dinner. He walked the few blocks back in the drizzling rain, but didn't mind it as he might have any other time. He had the prospect of a tomorrow with Q no matter what, and that chased away the dismal nature of the day considerably.
He made a pasta dish that night, then spent the majority of his evening cleaning house. Even after months of residing in the flat, Bond had yet to do much about the boxes in the living room. He had all intentions of bringing Q back to his tomorrow and he didn't want the place to be a mess, so he tackled it with a fervour that bordered on madness.
By the time eleven rolled around, he had done a good deal of it. All the dishes were in the cabinets, the few books on the shelves, M's bulldog joined by some framed art that he couldn't be arsed to hang, which he let rest on the mantle. Bond put the remainder of the unpacked boxes in the spare room, where he had the remnants of the old coffee table he had broken a long time ago and never binned.
He closed the door and went back to the living room, entertaining the idea of a drink. But Bond took pause, instead letting himself remember the vivid details of that morning: the warmth of Q's skin, the brush of his fingertips tracing scars along his shoulder, his back, the gentle kiss to his mangled ear, the faded line through his eyebrow. The remembrance of such simple things was enough to deter him from alcohol, enough to keep his usual demons away.
Above him, Bond heard 507 moving about, and the familiar tread took the familiar path to the corner just above Bond's window, where he knew the piano to be. It had been so long since he had heard 507 play; the few notes before Montenegro hadn't been enough, their unfinished song haunting him through the weeks abroad, more so after his unsuccessful conversation with Q and the resulting punishment in Andorra.
So it was with anticipation that he waited, wondering what 507 would play tonight. Bond wondered if it would be the continuation of the same melody, or something entirely new. A part of him-overjoyed at Q's acquiescence to meet him tomorrow-hoped for something a bit cheerful, while the rest of him yearned for the beauty in 507's works that emphasised the pain of loneliness and heartbreak.
Tonight, the music seemed to be a blend of many things: of happy anticipation and nervousness, of hesitance and fearful vulnerability, the jumble of emotions that Bond knew all too well. It made him think about Q and the feel of him, his strength, his dedication, how much Bond felt like his world was nothing without Q's conversation. He knew then that there was no longer a choice in the matter; it was Q or no one at all.
Listening to the sound of the last few notes falling from the ceiling like rain drops in fading storm, Bond could only hope that once, just once, things went to plan.
Things never went to plan.
Eve rang him early in the afternoon. After their conversation yesterday, Bond wondered if it was her checking in with him to see what had happened after she had gone home. He debated telling her about last night, but propriety held his tongue. From what he knew of Q, the man held his privacy very dear, and Bond was not about to betray that sort of trust. And it was a good thing he kept his mouth shut, because when Eve spoke, she sounded tentative, the tell-tale tone of someone with bad news.
"Bond," she began, and Bond immediately knew what she would say.
"No," he said firmly. "I just got back. I'm entitled to at least two weeks' leave."
"We have no other available agents of your skill," Eve answered, not even attempting to sugar coat the situation.
"Send 006."
"006 is in deep cover. We can't reach her without compromising her position. And 004 is still recovering at Station T."
"When?" Bond asked, resigned.
"Tonight. Your flight leaves at nine."
Bond glanced at his watch. He and Q had agreed to meet at six-thirty. It just wasn't enough time.
"Can you get me on another? First thing tomorrow?"
"It has to be tonight. They want you on the ground first thing in the morning."
He sat down on the edge of the bed and ran a tired hand over his face.
"Bond?" Eve asked.
"It's nothing. I just...had something important planned tonight."
Eve's end was silent for a full minute.
"Q?" she finally asked.
"Yeah," Bond answered.
A single beat, and then:
"There's a 2235 flight, but you'll have two layovers with transfer instead of one without. You'll arrive one hour behind schedule."
"Eve, I could kiss you," Bond said.
"Save that for Q," Eve replied, laughing. "I'll make the changes. Come in and collect your kit ASAP so you can work on getting ready for your date. R will have it waiting for you."
"I owe you."
"Yes you do."
Bond laughed.
"And Bond?"
"Yes?"
"Rock his world."
"Yes ma'am."
Bond arrived exactly on time, but Q was already waiting for him outside the restaurant, huddled beneath his umbrella against the rain. When he saw Bond, he seemed concerned and held out his umbrella a little further as Bond made the dash from taxi to pavement.
"Hi," Q said, like he had the morning prior.
"Hi," Bond replied.
Finally, Q smiled, and Bond relaxed.
"How was your interrogation?" Bond asked, and Q looked rather pleased with himself.
"Two weeks unpaid leave for insubordination," Q answered cheerfully. "You should have seen Mallory. He was furious. I think he wanted them to fire me, but half the committee wanted to pin a medal on me for saving 004 and the other half were just so impressed that I made an arse of him that they went easy on me. Still, they had to follow the book, so I've got a nice long holiday ahead of me."
"And how do you intend to spend that holiday?" Bond asked.
"I'm glad you asked, Mr. Bond," Q replied with a grin that told Bond everything he intended to do on said holiday. Q pressed against him-nothing inappropriate for a street corner, just enough that Bond could feel him everywhere, the warmth and presence of him-and smiled with half-lidded eyes as he asked: "Would you like to run away with me? I promise to return you in one piece."
The opportunity was one that Bond would have taken without hesitation, if not for the passport in his pocket. He considered ignoring his assignment, escaping with Q into the country somewhere for two uninterrupted weeks. But the responsibility of his country weighed heavily on him. They needed him out there. The other Double-Oh agents were indisposed and the agents currently on the ground were in no position to perform the operation. He was the only one they had left.
"Q…" Bond began, and Q's playfulness immediately vanished with understanding.
"When?"
"Tonight."
"Tonight?" Q repeated.
"I just found out this afternoon," Bond explained. "If I didn't know better, I'd think Mallory planned it."
Q looked out onto the street with a troubled expression.
"I won't be there for you this time," Q said. "I'm always there. Even if I'm not talking, I'm always there."
"I know."
Q hung his head a bit, and Bond pulled him close again, burying his nose in Q's hair that smelt like rain. Bond wished he had more time, but he knew that this was the job and Q knew it too. They seemed to constantly be living by just enough. It would have to do.
"So I guess dinner is out, then?" Q asked, and Bond gave him an apologetic smile. "When does your flight leave?"
"Two hours."
"We should get you to the airport then. R's taking care of you, yes?"
"Yes."
"You're in good hands. She won't let anything happen to you," Q said, hailing a taxi.
They slid into the back seat and gave the request to be driven to Heathrow. Then, it was silent between them for some time as they weaved between cars and pedestrians. Bond sought Q's hand, twining their fingers together. Q sighed and leant his head against Bond's shoulder.
"When I come back…" Bond began.
"I'll be reinstated as-" Q glanced at the driver and then dropped his voice: "-to my former position."
Bond looked at Q carefully.
"And then?"
The lights from the motorway flickered in bursts of sepia and violet across the canvas of Q's skin, the lenses of his glasses.
"We try," Q said. "If that's what you want."
Bond pressed his fingers into Q's palm.
"What do you want?"
Q smiled and that was all the answer Bond needed.
When they arrived at Heathrow, the taxi stopped at the appropriate level for Departures.
"You don't have to see me off," Bond said, as he paid the fare.
"I don't, but I am," Q replied, in a tone that left no room for argument. "And you're going to buy me a drink before you go."
Bond didn't even look at his watch.
"I've got time," he said, and-already electronically checked in and having printed boarding passes-promptly led Q past the ticketing counters to his usual haunt in terminal four. The Windsor Castle was a softly lit, quiet pub that drew Bond with its traditional sophistication and tasteful decor. There were no tellies on the wall or loud music, which made it a brief retreat in the hectic hustle-bustle of Bond's constant travels.
He chose his usual corner booth, and Q slid in next to him, sitting close enough that their knees touched. They ordered two pints and drank with light conversation, not wanting to be overheard by unwanted ears.
"You're going to miss your flight," Q said, nodding at the clock on the wall.
"Maybe I won't go," Bond began, but Q interrupted him.
"Defying orders is grounds for treason," Q whispered, and Bond leant closer to him. Without the collar of Q's jacket to hide it, Bond could see the love bite he had left on his throat, a lovely purplish bruise right below his ear. Bond used his proximity to kiss it, reveling in the resulting shiver.
"It might be worth it," Bond said.
"Stop it, it's not. You know we've both got jobs to do," Q said, pulling back slightly so he could look at Bond. "Queen and Country, remember?"
"Always," he said, and kissed him. "But when I come back, I'm taking you to dinner."
"I expect it. Now get out of here," Q said, swatting at him to get up and out of the booth. But then, his expression became more serious. "And please be careful."
"I will. For the sake of a dinner with you, I promise."
Bond should have known to never make promises he couldn't keep.
It was a hot spring day in Sofia and Bond had spent the morning running away from a very angry lot with a vendetta against the Crown. Bond had already lost his informant in the gunfight, but he had two other support agents flanking him on either side. They were young, like Ronson had been, and Bond told himself he was going to see them home alive, not in cardboard boxes. But somehow, in the escape, Bond became separated from them, and he had to focus on himself and the objective. So he continued on foot through the busy marketplace, ducking into an alleyway between buildings to get off the main road.
That was where he ran into bad luck and found himself trapped. He had only seconds to decide if he wanted to backtrack or risk another route. The rooftop gunmen would soon find him otherwise. He hesitated, because R was still trying to locate him on a map to give him clear instructions to a getaway path.
Bond, can you hear me?
Q's voice cut the line, drowning out R's rapid typing.
"Q? What are you doing-"
No time for that. Listen, take the alley and make a right. It'll take you to the next corner block. There are more crowds there and they're less likely to shoot aimlessly, Q explained, and Bond followed his words without doubt.
He melded in with the morning crowd immediately, but stuck to the edges where he knew he could easily dart away if need be.
"I lost the other two," Bond said.
They're alive. R is setting up a rendezvous point with them. You're to meet at-
The sound of gunfire and screaming interrupted Q's stream of words, and Bond immediately ducked to the ground with the rest of the crowd. They were shooting from above, from the windows and rooftops on all sides now, and Bond knew that they had eyes on him.
Stay where you are, Bond. Don't run, Q said, but Bond didn't hear.
He bolted out of the main street and back down the web of alleyways and side streets. The sound of militant shouting followed him from the roofs above.
Bond, listen to me, you've got to-
Whatever Q said became swallowed up in a hail storm of bullets, followed swiftly by intense pain. Bond went down. They shot him through the knee and, judging from the intensity of the pain, had shattered his kneecap. Bond knew immediately that he was done for. If he couldn't run, he had no means of escape, which meant torture and death.
James? James, are you-
"Q…" Bond gasped through the pain. He heard footsteps descending from above, approaching from all sides. "I'm...sorry...I don't think...I'll make it to dinner after all…"
James, no, just-
"Don't listen...please...I don't want you to hear…"
Q said something, but Bond didn't hear it. The ground was tipping under his head and there were gunshots piercing through the darkness above him. He knew he ought to be concerned with that, but all Bond could think of was how much he ruined everything. There was a reason he didn't want to get too close and this was it, because Q was going to hear and he was kind enough and beautiful enough to cry for him, to be hurt by his loss.
He saw Q's eyelashes in the dim morning light, felt the warmth of his skin, tasted the sweetness of him, remembered the scent of pine that lingered at his wrists and fingertips. And gliding with these sensations, the notes of a song that Bond felt in his entire being.
I'm sorry, he wanted to say, again and again.
But he wasn't sorry, because even though it was just a day, he had the chance to experience Q. To be in love with him. To be loved by him.
And he wouldn't have traded that for anything.
Music Credit
1) "A Secret I Cannot Tell - 不能說的秘密" (Secret OST - Jay Chou) played by Fiftyvinh. I chose this version over thesheetmusicguy's version because I like that the notes were softer and there was a slight hesitation to the playing at some parts.
2) Cloud Atlas Sextet composed by Tom /
As always, please let me know what you think! The final chapter should be up soon(ish). Thanks so much for all your patience :3