Alex' breathing was even, his movements controlled. As always. Keeping his routines just that. Routines. No divergences. Over the past month, he had slowly developed a few new routines. Nothing too surprising. Except for the song. A necessity Alex had told himself, to keep TRS occupied with analysing his actions, instead of registering the new codes he was implementing in the core program. Alex was not going to acknowledge the loneliness which had been draining him slowly, nor would he face the emotional turmoil which would endanger his ability to fight TRS. The song had to suffice as an outlet for his suppressed feelings, fears and anger. When the alerts had gone off, Alex had been worried something might have happened to Danny. It took a while to find the actual cause for the alarms. Q-branch from MI6. It surprised Alex. They must have hired new people since the Silva incident. Nobody he knew from the old MI6 would have been able to even get anywhere near TRS.
The program reacted predictably. Containing the intrusion, retaliating by observing the presumed intruders once TRS had figured out where they came from. But this had left room for Alex to circumvent the surveillance of him. He had been able to buy a bulk of new books and other equipment. Making sure to cover his tracks as best possible. The webcam was just a number among many on an invoice from a big online retailer. Alex knew TRS, but since it had become almost autonomous he was not always able to foretell its actions. But this had worked. The camera was installed and online. It had taken two weeks to carve out one of the books under the cover of the darkness. Lying in the small bed at one end of the room, he had used a simple nail file and the pretence of getting himself off to conceal his work. Shuffling and grunting seemed to have fooled TRS. Alex had made sure to have these small actions in place right from the start of his incarceration in the little white room. Once he had realised what had happened to him, he knew he had to develop procedures which would enable him to react to any kind of possibility for escape. While Spectre still had been in charge, Alex had been hopeful to make his escape. When he realised TRS had taken over, his hopes dwindled. Yet, he continued his fight against the program. To save Danny, to keep Danny safe. From Spectre, from TRS. Maybe even from Alex himself.
When TRS had the short malfunction four days ago, Alex had finally been able to continue with his plan. Not that he would know when or how he could escape. But he hoped the mail arrived at Q branch. Hoped, that somehow Danny would be involved in this mission. Because it had to be a mission for MI6. It just had to. MI6 had to be aware of TRS by now. Had to know the danger this program presented.
The webcam was placed directly across his desk in the bookcase, and Alex had been running TRS' codes across his laptop's screen for most of the day. A routine, letting him watch the development of his creation. Again, Alex had made sure over the past weeks to subtly change his routine. Walking around in the small confinement, pretending to read a book, singing or humming his song. This way making sure, the screen was visible most of the time from the webcam.
TRS was dimming the lights in the room. A sign for Alex to shut down his computer and start his evening routine. First, though, he took the top and let it spin. Watching it as intently as always, spinning round and round, and when it fell a small smile played on his face. He was not dreaming. One last look at the bookshelf, retrieving one of the new books, which he then placed on the small bedside table. He clicked on the small lamp on the table and then he started to undress. His clothes were folded and neatly put in the laundry box. He would set the box outside his door into the space between his door and the door to the outside world. Both doors were controlled by TRS. Even a power outage Alex had caused as one of his first attempts to escape had had no effect on the closed doors. On the contrary, a few days later TRS had given Alex access to a few news sites, showing Danny being accused of murdering his boyfriend. A warning, which only had intensified Alex' attempts to have Danny's safety as one of TRS' primary objectives.
After having finished undressing, Alex went into the small bathroom. He started the shower. As much as he had been able to create a disruption of the status quo by sending information to the outside world, he still had no idea if someone was actually watching. And whether this someone who might be watching would be able to understand what they were observing. If they were, then there would still the possibility of them not being able to act on it. At this point, Alex tried to stop his spiralling mind. Stop it by remembering Danny, his smile, his innocence. A man who had lived a life Alex had not even been capable of imagining. A man who had had experiences which should have left him broken and mistrusting, instead Danny had not only trusted Alex. Danny had loved him. Loved and trusted him even when Alex knew that Danny had been able to spot his lies and evasions. At this point, standing under the warm spray of the shower, concealed by the drops of water on his face, Alex let go. Embracing himself in his arms, pretending his hands were Danny's, caressing him, soothing him. He cried. For the first time since he had been released from the trunk, he cried.
-o-o-
Bond tried to follow Q's line of thinking.
"So, what? Danny is officially dead. How could he help us bring TRS down, except by pretending he is you? Diverting the attention and giving you the possibility to get closer? Like you already have done?"
Q took the pen and a new piece of paper.
"TRS is programmed to keep Danny safe. When the news about his suicide broke, TRS had and still has to keep that knowledge from Turner. This is probably the easy part, since I guess TRS is keeping close tabs on what Turner is allowed to learn about the outside world." Q put some notes and small squares and arrows down on the paper. "Now, one of TRS' main objectives was to keep Danny safe. The suicide has created a recursive loop, which the program is trying to stop to regain some kind of balance. This created the opening for Turner to reach out. He was able to send an unsupervised mail and somehow managed to install the camera. We can't contact him directly. I still have to check the email for clues. But," Q stopped to take a sip of tea, but continued before Bond could interrupt him. "Danny's suicide can be used to our advantage. You see," a few new arrows and squares were drawn on the paper. "Instead of Danny impersonating me, we should have me impersonating Danny."
Q continued to draw and explain, while he became more and more excited. Bond tried several times to interrupt, but without any luck.
"Q," Bond said for the third or fourth time, while Q was explaining about recursive algorithms and data overload. Finally, Bond had enough.
"Ethan!"
Q stopped mid-sentence.
"I told you not to call me that," he hissed at Bond, who smiled at him unperturbed.
"Well, love," Bond said, "I had to stop you somehow. And this seems to work perfectly."
"I'm not finished. You see," Q began once more with his drawing. Before he made any real progress, Bond cupped Q's face and simply kissed him, which effectively put an end to Q's monologue.
The surprised gasp turned into a quiet moan, while Bond slowly nipped at Q's lips.
"Hm," Bond mumbled. "Much better, love. And," he continued, one eyebrow raised and a pointed look at Q. "It is time for you to sleep. You can't continue this without at least a few hours of sleep."
"But if we con- hmpff."
Bond stopped him once more. This time by putting a finger to Q's lips and tsk'ing at him.
"I'll make sure you're relaxed enough to sleep."
Bond's smile had turned wicked. Q looked doe-eyed at Bond. Then, because Bond's finger still was pressed against his mouth, Q opened his mouth, licking the finger slowly, his eyes trained on Bond. Bond took the hint and pushed into Q's mouth, who let out a small sigh. Sucking and licking, Q seemed to lose himself to the sensation of calloused fingers on his tongue, of a body pressed against him. Need and want overtaking rational thoughts and responsibilities. Bond held him in his arms, tension and resistance leaving Q's body being replaced with compliance. Bond cupped Q's face in his hands, locking eyes with him.
"Okay?"
Q only managed a small nod, eyes bright, leaning forward in search of Bond's mouth. Tenderly trailing Q's cheekbones with his finger, Bond kissed chastely, almost teasingly. Encouraging Q to engage, take and demand what he needed, wanted from Bond. With a disappointed huff, Q went in with an open mouth, pushing Bond's lips apart, almost greedily plunging his tongue into Bond's mouth. Bond reciprocated, letting his hands trail down Q's shoulders, his spine, and grabbed Q' arse. They were both standing up by now. Q grinding into Bond's groin, eliciting a loud groan from both men. Their arousals far too palpable in trousers that seemed too tight.
"Bed?"
Bond's request was a sultry whisper.
"Fuck yes!"
Q's respond was emphasised by entangling his legs around Bond's waist and hoisting himself up, pressing his mouth once more against Bond's lips, Q's hands grasping Bond's shoulders. Bond returned the kiss and pushed Q up against the kitchen wall.
"That's my boy," Bond said when both men came up for breath.
Q immediately yanked Bond's head back, both hands clutching almost painfully at Bond's hair.
"Don't!" Q's voice was low, almost vicious. "Don't you dare to ever call me that again!"
Bond was taken by surprise, nearly losing his balance. The playful mood had gone, and Bond examined Q's face closely. Anger, but also hurt and embarrassment were drawn into the fine lines of his face. Bond blinked confused.
"I'm sorry?" he offered tentatively.
Q closed his eyes. Without looking at Bond, he tried to pull away, releasing his hands and standing back on the floor. Bond still held his arms around Q, not drawing him in, offering comfort and concern. Q made a half turn, but stayed in Bond's embrace.
"No," Q said quietly. "I'm sorry. It's - I. Just please don't call me - that."
Bond's hands were caressing Q's back, carefully drawing him close again. Instead of answering or asking questions, Bond kissed him gently. Nipping at Q's ears, licking along the prominent collar bones. Making small encouraging noises. When he looked back up, Q's eyes were half lidded, his pupils blown wide and his mouth half open. Bond's smug smile was back in place. They would have to talk about this, but later. For now, all that mattered for Bond was Q's wellbeing. And by all means, a good fuck would help both of them to release the stress of the past days and weeks.
Telegraphing his intentions, he watched Q closely before lifting him bridal style and carrying him towards the bedroom. Q just gave a small sigh and buried his face in the crook of Bond's neck. Attentively, Bond took off Q's clothes, only leaving his pants in place. That was, till Q made a small complaining noise pointedly looking at the offending piece of clothing. Bond's grin could hardly become wider. Mere seconds after stripping Q, Bond was standing beside the bed in all his naked glory, revelling in Q's appreciative glance. Bond lied down beside Q on top of the blankets. With great care did he take Q's glasses and put them on the bedside table. Then he let his fingers trail over the lithe body, watching Q before bending down to suck and lick at Q's nipples, one after the other. The small buds became hard in his mouth, while his hand found its way down between Q's thighs. Gently, Bond's fingers traced the hard, hot flesh of Q's cock. An admiring humming noise accompanied Bond's ministrations, his focus solely on Q's pleasure. Another kind of tension took hold of Q's body, his breathing turned into panting, his hands searching for Bond's back, for his shoulders, Q's hips involuntarily bucking up against Bond's hand.
Bond pushed himself further down Q's body. Kissing and licking, leaving small bite marks in his wake. Q seemed to lose himself in Bond's touch. Q's cock was wet with copious amounts of precome, letting Bond's fingers glide easily along the shaft before he took him into his mouth and down his throat. Q was too far gone to restrain himself any longer. Ruthlessly, he rutted into Bond's mouth, chasing his own relief. Bond was hard. Q's almost brutal thrusting into his mouth had Bond on the edge of his own orgasm. The feeling of being used, of becoming Q's fucktoy had Bond grinding hard into the mattress, unconsciously, his awareness solely focussed on Q's needs. And Q took. Grabbing Bond's head, forcing him down on his cock, pushing up into his throat. It was glorious. Bond came, trying to catch his breath, choking and gagging, when Q's semen hit the back of his mouth. He swallowed between harsh breaths, his own orgasm prolonged, almost painful. When Q finally let go of his head, Bond pulled slowly back, sucking on Q's cock as on a lolly pop. Q was still gone in post coital bliss when Bond had gotten his breath back and had left to get a wet flannel to clean them both. He felt his own world a bit off-kilter, not being able to remember when he last had felt this good after sex. When he returned to the bedroom, Q looked at him with sleepy eyes.
"Shit." Q's voice was slurred.
Bond smiled softly.
"That bad?" Bond lied down and cleaned them both.
Q grinned.
"Best sex I've had in ages," his pronunciation still off.
"Same," Bond replied, sleep and fatigue catching up with him. He managed a sloppy kiss on Q's wet and smiling mouth, before tucking them both under the covers. Q was snoring quietly by the time Bond drifted into a deep, dreamless sleep.
-o-o-
Danny found himself in a strange flat, scratch marks on his hands from the small kerfuffle with Q's white cat, Pam. She had been less than amused when Danny arrived, an unknown guest who wasn't introduced by Q. James had warned him, even if Q had assured him, she would know how to behave. Turing, a grey tabby with a torn ear, seemed to have sensed the deep distress, Danny was in. Following him around the flat, keeping close. Danny had made it into the kitchen, making a cup of tea, which then cooled, untouched. The bathroom had been his next destination. Getting rid of the glasses, contacts and fake fingerprints. His clothes, Q's clothes, Danny just left where they fell, when he took them of. Turning on the shower and getting under the still cold spray, gasping out when the water hit him. Tears welling up, mixing with the water rivulets down his face.
Danny started to shake. His teeth were chattering, and he collapsed into a small heap in the corner of the shower, the water pouring relentless down on his back.
He didn't know when he finally had been able to move and turn off the water. His skin was wrinkled and he felt empty in every way possible. The realisation hit him. Alex was alive. The body in the attic must have been somebody else. Alex was out there, somewhere. Knowing that Danny would understand the email. That Danny would be the only one who really would understand what the last line meant.
Putting on Q's bathrobe, pulling it close around him, Danny somehow made it into the living room, literally crawling onto the sofa, dragging a blanket over him. There were no tears left, no energy. Nothing. Alex was alive. Danny said it out loud, cuddling around Turing, who curled up against his chest. Alex was alive.