"I hope you'll forgive my being less than chatty on the drive here," Q mumbled as they pulled themselves out of Bond's car, a quiet three hour drive later with few words shared between them over the backdrop of the offerings from Classic FM.
"You have nothing to apologise for, Q. You need time to grieve. We all need time to grieve when we lose something we love. I have one purpose today. To watch your back. Anything else though, will cost you," Bond gave him a slant of a smile.
Typical Bond banter to try and cheer a chap up. "Thank you, 007." They walked together towards a sheltered part of the coastline. Bond wanted to ask, curious about the choice of landmark for the scattering of Charles Sebastian's ashes, but he opted for silence instead. Likely scenario he'd have to get his Quartermaster well and truly plastered first to extract any confessions. More fun than waterboarding at least…
Bond hung back a few metres as they were approached by a woman clad in a tasteful, plain black suit. "I'm sorry I don't believe we've met. Were you a friend of Charles?"
"Yes, Mrs Sebastian," said Q, taking her hand gently in his. "We met a while ago in the… in the early stages of…" she nodded, releasing him from his need to explain further. "Sort of hit it off over a mutual love of rugby. Kept in touch."
She gave him a knowing but sad look. "You're Arthur, aren't you?"
That took Q aback. "Charles… Told you about me?"
"He told me enough," she said taking his hand gently in hers to guide him to her side, before hooking her arm in his. "And there are some things a mother just knows."
"So. Arthur?"
"That piece of information better go with you to your grave, Bond, else you find yourself at the explosive end of some of specially-designed self-destructive hardware."
Bond raised his hands in mock submission before splaying them on the roof of the car. "Actually I was mulling over how appropriate a name it was for you."
"What do you mean by that? Old fashioned and archaic? Like my fashion sense?"
Bond smiled at him, shaking his head at the self-depreciation. "King of Britain? Mastermind behind the Knights of the Round Table? Protector of the Realm?" Bond opened his door to climb into the driver seat while watching the realisation dawn on Q's face, as though he'd never made the connection previously. "Really, Q," tutted Bond, as he slipped into the seat and grabbed his belt. "For all your intelligence, you really are quite slow sometimes."
Q gave an irritated grumble but didn't offer further comment on Bond's observations. Bond turned his head to look at Q or perhaps assess his state of mind, as he started the car. "So Quartermaster. Where to now?"
Q looked straight ahead determinedly. "I don't know about you Bond, but I need to get absolutely shit-faced." He gave him a hopeful look. "Care to join me?"
They arrived at the hotel and checked-in.
"Two rooms. Under the name Sebastian?"
"Sebastian? I believe we have a package for you, Sir," the attendant said as she turned towards the office. She came back with a large brown envelope and handed it to him. "Here you are."
"Thank you," he said, stowing it under his arm while gathering up his bag.
Bond didn't pry.
Q looked at Bond as though assessing his options, wondering if getting drunk with his bodyguard was actually the wisest course of action. Bond stood and waited.
Fuck it.
"Regroup in the bar? One hour?"
"Very well, Q."
The Scotch was doing its job, warming Q's heart and bones. It would be short-lived, but he'd take it where he could get it. He glanced at Bond, both men resting their elbows on the bar in front of them them in silent contemplation.
"So. About your gift…"
Bond swirled his drink as he replied. "You know, I was going to give it to you when I got back back from Italy. But then, I walked into your office and you were standing there all lithe and stretchy, and I thought, I'll give it to him after…"
"After what? You took me to Double O-Heaven and back?"
"Something like that."
"Rude, 007, and incredibly presumptuous."
"Yes. And I apologise."
"An actual apology. I'm humbled, Bond. Think I might frame that one for posterity's sake," he said with a hint of annoyed sarcasm.
Bond did what he did best and gave a humoured retort. "Yes. Q Jumping. It's just not done. Very bad form and singularly un-British of me."
Q's laugh rose from his belly. A deep, heartfelt sound that took Bond by surprise. He sighed at the end of it. "God, I needed that."
He downed his malt, regretting it instantly. "Anyway, your gift."
"Yours, Q."
"It really is too much."
"Yes, it is. But I'm prone to making extravagant gestures in an effort to distract from my shortcomings."
Q didn't have an answer for that so ordered them both another Scotch.
It was midnight and well past the Quartermaster's bedtime. Evidently.
"And another thing, Mr Bond…" he slurred, as Bond deftly snatched the tumbler from Q's fingers while he scrambled clumsily to try and retrieve the theft. "Time for a nap, methinks, Q." The bar was deserted, the hotel relatively quiet due to the time of year. Thankfully. Bond, having imbibed only one drink for every two of Q's, took the matter in hand.
He hoisted Q out of his chair and in one smooth move swept him into a fireman's lift, much to the surprise of both the barman and the Quartermaster. "Hey! Unhand me, you brutish oaf!" Q spluttered indignantly through his drunken haze.
Bond didn't spare the barman a glance as he strolled towards the lift and pressed the call button. Blessedly, it was empty.
"Q?" The query was met with a gentle snore from behind. Bond couldn't help but roll his eyes. They really don't pay me enough, he thought to himself.
As he headed down the corridor towards their rooms, Bond reached into his pocket and retrieved the key to Q's. Foresight is a wonderful thing, having removed it from his person earlier by sleight of hand.
Tossing back the covers of the bed, he laid him down and removed his shoes. As he returned from the bathroom with a glass of water and a couple of painkillers to place on the nightstand, he found him clutching the large brown paper envelope he had been given earlier from reception. Gently, he took off his glasses and sat by his side on the bed. He had learned quite a bit about his Quartermaster this evening. Insightful. Interesting. Bond sighed. Perhaps accepting this assignment from M hadn't been such a good idea. Q was rapidly graduating from being the desire of a sexual conquest to something else that Bond really didn't want to dwell on right now.
"Don't go… Stay… Please… " Bond gave fleeting consideration to the sleepy words. Not that Q would be likely to remember much of their evening past his third scotch. How big a cad was James Bond? Enough to get the man out of his system in his most vulnerable state and move on?
"Charles…" Q whispered, a restless frown and the barest hint of a tear pushing against the corner of closed eyelids. Fingers of one hand were wrapped firmly around Bond's forearm, while the other gripping the package tighter to his chest. Not that big a wazzocking cad it would seem, he thought to himself, as he pulled the covers round Q's shoulders and headed to his own room.