The first postcard he got from James bloody Bond was two months after the man had quit being an agent. One of the security guards gave it to him, telling him that a little boy had delivered it and that it was safe. No poison in the ink used or the paper the picture of the Eiffel Tower was printed on.
He had no idea who could have sent it to him until he flipped it over and saw ‘J B’ scribbled on it in that same elegant writing that had been on the sticky note next to the expensive bottle of champagne he had gotten in exchange for an even more expensive car. His stomach did a little funny flip then and a smile almost appeared on his lips, but then R entered his office and he stuffed the card in his jacket and tried to play it cool - and failed, the woman looking at him funny the entire day, especially when he unconsciously brushed his hand over his chest.
In fact, at one point, the poor woman started to panic. “Quartermaster, are you, perhaps suffering a heart attack?” She placed her hands on his back and started to push him towards medical - cruse his fast metabolism for not allowing him to put a little bit of meat on his bones and thus allowing someone half his size treat him like a rag doll. “You are not too young to have one, you know.”
“I am not too young to have a what?” His most curious minion - the reason why Q had started to label his projects because of him - asked, starting to follow them.
“A heart attack,” R replied and in a second, Q was surrounded by his entire department.
No one listened to him saying that he was okay and he ended up carried to the Medical department, Eve, Bill and M pacing in front of his room until his doctor said that all he was suffering from was exhaustion. That got him sent home earlier than usual and banned from his own bloody department for four days.
“You’re still on thin ice with me for hiding the fact that he was not in London, Quartermaster. That means that if I so much as see a single cat hair within twenty meters of either MI6 building, I will punish you for real this time,” M threatened as he shoved Q in a car, slamming the door shut.
He was very tempted to rip the postcard into little pieces, set it on fire and then bury the ashes in the earth from his house plants. But he decided not to do that because he knew that somehow something bad would happen. Such as the fire getting out of control and destroying the apartment for which he was still paying. Or his cats eating the postcard parts and somehow getting sick. Or the ash killing his plants.
“Bloody troublemaker,” he grumbled as he shoved the troublesome card in the back of his pantry where the unopened bottle of champagne was hidden. “Thank you, Bond, for managing to cause me trouble even when you no longer are an agent. You couldn’t even follow that simple, bloody instruction of not sending me anything.”
Only when he was tucked in bed and the lights were off did he let out a sigh of relief that he had been holding ever since he gave the keys to the free man, finally feeling better for knowing that Bond was okay and in one piece.
***
The second postcard from the man came one month after the first one, in an envelope. In fact, it had been delivered just as he entered the MI6 main building and despite the fact that he told the guard that he knew the handwriting and that the person who sent it to him would never cause him any harm, the suspicious envelope was still sent to be checked for any traces of explosive powder or anthrax.
He watched in hidden horror next to M and Bill - Eve was away on that day and thank god, because the woman knew Bond’s handwriting and he wasn’t in the mood for her teasing - as men in hazmat suits opened the envelope and a postcard from Berlin fell to the ground, accompanied by a car emblem.
Q groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose when he saw that, almost hitting his head against the window. Bloody Bond had destroyed the car even though he was bloody civilian. Actually, after thinking for a second, that may have been why the car lasted so long. No shootings, no explosions. But the man still drove like a maniac.
“What a strange coincidence,” M spoke up, eyes narrowed. “That ornament seems to come from the exact type of car that disappeared three months ago. Are you sure you do not know how it disappeared, keys and all?”
Q cleared his throat and did everything possible to avoid M’s eyes. “I am still trying to restore the security footage from that day, M. Now, if you will excuse me, I have an important project that I need to start.”
M grabbed his shoulder before Q could even take a single step. “And would this new project of yours have anything to do with Berlin and the other parts that should be attached to the ornament that this mysterious possible friend of yours sent you?”
“Not in the least, M, I promise.” He wiggled free and bolted into the sealed room, ignoring the technicians who were getting ready to pick up the two objects with a mechanical claw and continue their tests. “They are safe, trust me,” he shouted over his shoulder.
M dropped by his branch sometimes close to midnight, finding him neck-deep in recent reports concerning car crashed in and around Berlin. He sighed in defeat and picked up the card, turning it over to see nothing more than a 'J B’ scribbled on it.
“If you are not gone by three in the morning, take tomorrow off.” His boss said softly, putting the card back on the desk and patting his back. “He could have at least apologized.”
Q smiled sadly. “If we are talking about the former 007, although I do not know why we would, you know as well as I do that the man would explode if he did that.”
He left for home just as the morning shift in his branch arrived and woke up to an angry voicemail from M, berating him for not taking better care of himself. “You are excellent at taking care of others,” the man said, unhappiness clear in his voice. “But when it comes to yourself, you are hopeless. I am assuming you found the car and since we aren’t running any missions that require the presence of the Quartermaster and you finished all of your projects way before they were due, go bring it back.”
Bloody Bond and his inability to bring back something, anything back in one peace or at least working condition and forcing Q to take the bloody plane. Would it have killed him if he had brought back the car in the same way he got it? Did he confuse the Spree River for a huge car wash?
He wanted to cry when he saw the state the poor car was in, hiding his face in the palms of his hands, crouching. “Curse you, Bond. How dare you do this to the car? Have you any idea how much time I invested restoring it to its former glory after the last time?”
Bond wasn’t there to reply, but he imagined him smirking and saying something like how he had no doubt Q could do it again and even improve it.
“Driver paid the fine and the taxes for depositing it and the ones to have it sent back to London,” the police officer struggled to say in a thick German accent, fiddling with the keys which were pretty much useless at this point. “Driver even left a little box for the person who came to pick the car up as long as he had wild, brown hair, green eyes, was thin, looked annoyed when he saw the state of the car, had questionable taste in fashion and wore hipster glasses.”
Q’s eye actually twitched and he let out a low growl. “That bloody, ungrateful twat!” He pushed his glasses back up his nose and crossed his hands over his chest. They were not hipster glasses and his taste in fashion wasn’t questionable. Just because Bond insisted on dressing like he was constantly going to a fancy dinner party didn’t mean that everyone had to do that. He probably had a tux instead of pyjamas like the rest of the normal world.
The police officer raised his hands, chuckling. “Sorry, I do think those glasses are cool, but he asked us very kindly,” aka Bond made a hefty donation, “to use those exact words just to be sure it was the right person who picked the car and the box up.”
“He would, the bloody twat. You have no idea how much I hate the driver.” He grabbed his box and completely ignored the way too joyful farewell.
Much to his shame, he was actually giddy when he opened the box. He pulled out the fluffiest sweater he had ever touched, a new mug with a 'Q’ on it - someone who might have been Bond smashed it eight months ago - a nice expensive suit - which he suspected that it would fit him perfectly - and lots and lots of black tea boxes that were from France and Germany.
“Still not a proper apology, you utter twat!” Although James was not there, Q was pretty sure that the man somehow heard him.
But the tea was sinfully good and the first time he took a sip, he couldn’t help but moan in pleasure. It was also very strong and helped him stay awake while he worked on fixing the car – again – after his schedule was officially over. The suit was very lovely and he felt like he was wearing pieces of cloud – he didn’t have for what to wear it because none of the MI6 higher ups deserved such elegancy and he didn’t have the time or date to go to the theatre or opera – and his two adorable cats loved his new sweater even more than he did.
But he still refused to see those gifts as a proper apology and made sure to let the Bond in his mind that, as far as he was concerned, they were nothing more than bribes. Not that he’d normally accept bribes, but he had a very soft spot in his heart for the former agent.
***
The third postcard arrived two weeks later and Q almost had a heart attack because it was in an envelope again. What had the agent destroyed this time? Did he really expect him to fix everything? He was still working on the car, how was this fair?
“There’s only a postcard with the great pyramid of Giza and two cat bells in here,” one of the technicians said, appearing to tray to scratch his head through the hazmat suit. These were the people that MI6 trusted with the finding and dealing with every dangerous package. Oh how safe Q felt when he looked at them.
He rolled his eyes and marched into the room, grabbing his stuff. “Yes, thank you very much for confirming what I said one hour ago and namely that the contents of that envelope are safe.” He will have to convince M to let all envelopes that had Bond’s handwriting on them be sent directly to him, bypassing this annoyingly time consuming ritual.
“Quartermaster, if you keep breaking this type of protocol, I will have to make a formal request with M to put you through a special training that can last from three hours to an entire week!” The man called after him, entering head first into the closing doors.
One week later, he received a very beautiful picture from Marrakech, Morocco accompanied by a very beautiful, dark green scarf. He tried to keep the cats away from this gift, but there was no possible way for him to refuse them when they turned their big eyes on him. They were almost as hard to resist as Bond’s blue eyes.
A month passed and Q assumed that Bond had gotten bored of this little painful game, but then Eve appeared in his office with a huge smile and a familiar brown envelope midway through his shift.
“I am not opening it here, so you can go away, Miss Moneypenny,” Q muttered as he did his best to hold himself back from jumping over his desk and ripping the envelope open to see what interesting thing Bond had given him.
She tapped the envelope against her chin and looked smugly at him. “Unlike a certain Quartermaster who picked up really bad habits from a former agent that shall not be named, the rest of us follow proper procedures.”
It took a moment for Q to figure out which procedure she meant since MI6 was swimming in them. “So you scanned it and you know what’s in it. Or have a vague idea of it, anyway. In your case, C would stand for curious.”
She clicked her tongue and pinched his cheek, slipping the envelope in his suit. “For that, I am going to tell you that your Bond greeting is accompanied by a solid gold statue that represents an Apsara dancer.”
They made up by lunch.
The next week, he got a small box in which he found a card from Istanbul and a beautiful pair of Turkish slippers that were made with green silk and gold. The shoes appeared too heavy and too precious to actually use, so Q just put them in the back of the closet with all the other gifts.
But what really stood out this time was the text that accompanied Bond’s initials. Wish you were here with me. And Q hated the way his heart skipped a bit when he read that, cussing his inability to get over Bond.
This postcard, much to his shame, ended up under his pillow.
In the month that followed, he was bombarded with postcards every three days and on each one Bond had written the same thing. That he missed him and he wished he was there with him. And then they stopped.
What a cruel man, Q thought as he contemplated ripping each and every one of them to shreds and setting them on fire. And what a stupid man he was for being able to let him go and forget about him.
***
There were two days to Christmas and it seemed that even the bad guys caught the holyday bug because MI6 had absolutely no agent on the field. It was for that reason that Eve and Tanner were busy trying to convince M that an office Christmas party was just what everyone needed.
They had tried to gain Q’s support as well, but he was too busy working on Bond’s car. “I do not have time to play, but I am sure that the rest of my department has more time than they know what to do with it.” He had caught five of them just that morning working on creating a computer game.
Unsurprisingly, Eve wasn’t too happy to hear that. She tried to drag him away from away from his work station, complaining that he spent too much time in the dark basement that was his branch, working for hours on end on a car for someone who didn’t deserve it.
“He’s not coming back no matter what you do to this car,” Tanner finally said and Q flinched as if he had been slapped. “You can make it turn into a submarine and an airplane and he still won’t return.”
“Don’t you think I know that?” Q asked without looking at either one of them. “He is happy with Miss Swann and I am happy for him.” It hurt him even more when he said that out loud, as if the noise his voice made amplified the words’ powers. “But I will not be able to truly let him go until I finish fixing this.”
Tanner watched him with narrowed eyes for a moment before huffing and slowly shaking his head. “I see; that car is your closure.” Q nodded and Tanner took Eve’s arm and started dragging her to the door. “We’ll leave you to your work, Quartermaster. Please try to have a happy Christmas and remember that my offer to have dinner with us still stands if you change your mind.”
“I’ll think about it some more,” Q muttered softly, but both he and Tanner knew that he wouldn’t show up.
Twenty minutes later, he got a mail in his inbox about a small Christmas party that will be held in MI6’s secondary building and he was happy for everyone. He sent M a quick reply in which informed him with great regret that he would not be able to attend it as he wished to use that day to relax.
He reached his home around one in the morning, covered in oil and feeling like he was dead on his feet. But his tiredness went away and a surge of fresh energy travelled through his body the second his eyes landed on an envelope that had been stuffed in his mail box, Bond’s elegant writing on his back.
It was simply addressed to Q and it was thick enough to contain something more than a simple postcard, but not an actual gift. The elevator was taking too long as far as Q was concerned so he ran up the stairs, taking two at a time.
Breathless, he collapsed on his sofa and ignored the two cats that were mewling loudly to get his attention, offended by the lack of Q’s usually belly rubs greetings.
Q started to shake when he read the back of the postcard that had come together with a credit card and a map. I need you, please come to me, James had written and Q instantly pictured him full of gunshot wounds, breathing his last breath in a sleazy hotel with Miss Swann holding his hand.
“Eve, I need your help with something,” he breathed into his phone, already digging through his closet to pack. “I promise never to ask you anything ever again and I will owe you for all eternity, but please take care of my cats until I come back.”
“Come back? Come back from where? Q, is everything okay?” She asked, panic clear in her voice.
“Yes, everything is perfectly fine with me, but with Bond…” He trailed off, slowly turning his head to glance at his two cats that looked like they planned on causing hell before getting put in their respective cages.
Q heard s sleepy male voice and Eve hushing someone before closing a door. “Q, I don’t think you should go alone. The last time I let you do that, you almost got kidnapped and I would never forgive myself if something bad happens to you.”
“Nothing bad will happen to me, Eve, I promise.” He put an earwig on and started to chase after one of the cats. “You know Bond would never allow that to happen.” He almost hit his head against the coffee table, but at least he caught Einstein. “I’ll also need you to confirm to M that I had sent a request for time off two weeks ago and that he had agreed to it despite not being able to find it now.”
She let out a defeated sigh just as Q managed to cage Turing. “I am not going to let your babies sleep in my bed, just so you know.”
Q suppressed a chuckle because he knew she always caved in and let them rule her apartment. A pity cats couldn’t become double oh agents; they’d probably get things done way faster and the only real damage they’d cause would be to everyone’s mugs.
“Thank you so much, Eve. I’ll be at your place in frothy-five minutes.” He looked at the credit card Bond had sent him, surprised to find a fake name on it. “Actually, I’ll be there in twenty minutes. I see Bond had enough of a brain not to give me his actual credit card.”
He hugged Eve, kissed his beloved cats on the back of their ears goodbye and then rushed to the airport. He paid extra for the ticket to Zermatt – the postcard and map were from there so Q deduced that Bond had to be there – and he even had to bribe the man who had them, but he was in that panicked state where money didn’t matter at all - plus, he was using the money from the card Bond had given him, considering them payment for all the free work he was doing to the destroyed car.
Over the years, he had learned how to control his fear of flight. Mostly because Bond constantly did stupid things that had M send Q on the fastest airplane available to clean up after him and make sure the world didn’t end with the agent’s death. That happened because Q was, after all, Bond’s personal handler and pretty much the only man the agent sort of listened to.
And because of that, because Bond trusted him so much and expected him to be by his side when he needed him, Q sucked it up, clutched his seat as tightly as he could, ingested copious amounts of camomile tea and tried to appear unaffected when he presented himself to his agent.
He would have taken the train since it was cheaper, would have spared him the traumatic experience and he could have enjoyed the beautiful winter scenery. But no; Bond just had to go get himself shot, stabbed, electrocuted or all of the above. At least he had Miss Swann with him and the woman was a doctor – he forgot which type of doctor she was and the flight assistant had threatened to tie him down and smash his laptop if she caught him using the internet again, but he hoped she was the type who dealt with bodies and not minds – so she could keep him alive long enough for Q to get there, save his ass and then personally kill him.
The map was quite easy to read so Q worried that whoever was after Bond would find him as easy as he did. And when he saw the five star hotel that the map lead him to, Q couldn’t help but crouch in the snow and run his hands down his face, pulling his hat off and biting it to keep himself from screaming.
How exactly was Bond a spy again if this was his idea of lying low? Or the better question was, since Bond had survived for so long despite hiding in such a fancy place where money solved everything and anything, how stupid were the men MI6 constantly up against? Though this was something that enforced just how good of an idea it was to hide in plain sight.
The porter held the door open for him with a smile and the receptionist gave him the warmest greeting Q had ever received. And when he saw the card Q was about to pay with, he shook his head, gave him the penthouse key and called the hotel manager who insisted on carrying his bag and personally leading him to his room.
At this point, it looked like a trap, smelt like a trap and felt like a trap, so Q was clutching tightly to the zapper in his jacket’s pocket, regretting not bringing along a gun with him. He expected for the elevator to suddenly go down or for a trapdoor to open under him - Bond had been on a mission where a madman fed his enemies to sharks by collapsing the small Japanese bridge they were forced to sit on when talking to him. But they reached the top floor without incidents and the hotel manager opened the door for Q, carefully put his bag down and walked away without taking the tip he was offered.
The apartment was spacious and well lit. Q peeked in the huge bedroom and found the bed sheets free of any blood stains and the closet full of Bond’s suits but no trace of anything that a woman might ware. The bathroom was also spotless, lacking any feminine products and smelled like lavender instead of blood.
Q checked the apartment twice for bugs and when he couldn’t find anything, he plopped on the bed, confused as what he was supposed to do next. He hadn’t found any clue to where Bond might be – all of his papers were in a drawer and from what he could tell, he was only missing his wallet – and reception had assured him that there were no messages waiting for him.
Maybe everything had been a trap designed to lure the MI6 Quartermaster as far away from London as possible. Well, not too far away; he was still in Europe. Though he hadn’t told Eve where he had gone, but he was sure that if he was gone for too long, they would overwrite the password on his work computer and turn on the tracker.
All he had to do was hold out until they found him. “I hate you so much, Bond,” he grumbled, falling on his back in the bed. It somehow became much softer then and he remembered just how tired he was. And not to mention that he was still dirty. Should he take a shower? Or maybe just make a run for the door and hide in the forest somewhere?
“What would Bond do?” He wondered out loud, rolling on his left side. Take a shower, dry himself and wait for the woman that the bad guys always sent after him, sex her up good and walk away with all the information he needed and completely relaxed.
Q wouldn’t have that luck. Not that he wanted to sleep with a complete stranger to ensure his own safety, be that person man or woman. So he better convince his body to start cooperating, get up and leave before the trap is fully sprung and he had no way of escaping.
The door opened just as he picked up his bag and he quickly dove under the bed, waiting to see how many guards they had sent after him - please be just one - and trying to remember where he had seen the emergency exit.
“Q? Q, where are you? The concierge said the hotel manager himself brought you up to my room.” Bond’s urgent voice instantly relaxed Q and he started to crawl out from under the bed, holding back a yelp when the former agent grabbed his arms and, in a swift move, pulled him out entirely. “There’s the personification of my favourite letter in all the alphabets in the world.”
Q arranged his glasses and narrowed his eyes, feet almost touching the ground. “I am not thin enough for a wounded man that is minutes away from dying to pick me up without gushing out what was left of his blood,” he grumbled, running his hands down Bond’s chest to see if he had any bandages under his shirt.
James looked at him confusedly. “Well, I should hope not.” He lifted Q slightly higher and hummed, pursing his lips. “Now I want to test that just to be sure, but I have no idea where to find a dying man.”
Q’s eye twitched. “You’re going to be that man.” He wrapped his hands around Bond’s neck and started applying pressure, while also wrapping his legs around his waist to be sure the man wouldn’t throw him off. “I thought something bad had happened to you, you bloody bastard!”
“I gave no indication of that, Q,’ Bond whispered, clasping his hands just under Q’s bottom as if he was making sure the young man wouldn’t fall off and hurt himself. "I just said that I needed you, which I did because I missed you.” He rested his forehead against Q’s, shocking the man for a second. “To be completely honest, I didn’t think you’d come, but Madeleine insisted that I try nonetheless.”
It was really starting to annoy Q that Bond was acting as if he was being strangled by a fly. He could have the common decency to pretend to be out of breath or turn blue. And even worse, despite the fact that Q had released Bond’s neck and middle, the man was refusing to put him down.
“I left in the middle of the night, asked Eve to lie to M for me, braced myself for the worst while regretting not taking more advanced medical classes and flew over here because you missed me?” He started to struggle now, trying to knee Bond in the groin to get him to release him. “Let me go, I have to go back to London. And shame on Miss Swann for supporting your dumb idea to prank me, Bond.”
But Bond only held on tighter to him. “Q, you came in a heartbeat here because you thought I was in danger. And it isn’t the first time, so please humour me and start calling me James already.” He planted a kiss on Q’s temple which froze the man. “And it’s not a prank; I really did wish you were wherever I was.”
He must have fallen asleep on the plane or at his desk, Q thought, because there was no way Bond was really saying that while hugging him in real life. That only happened in his dreams – along with other, more spicy things that always led to him feeling embarrassed in the morning – dreams that always got crushed when Bond appeared with yet another lover by his side.
Plus, the man had left MI6 with Miss Swann by his side after he allowed a man who had destroyed everything Bond had considered important to walk away with his life. Q had been glad to see that the agent still had a bit of humanity left in him after everything he had been through, but his heart still broke. And just thinking of the day Bond showed just for the car gave him a strong headache.
Bond placed him gently on the bed and then pushed his face against his forehead. “Do you have a headache?”
Q shook his head. “Just waiting for this bloody dream to be over already. I want to see if I fell asleep while flying to Switzerland or if I have the shape of the Aston Martin ornament embedded in my face again.” He actually screeched when Bond pinched his side and jumped off the bed, glaring daggers.
Chuckling, Bond held his hands up, arching an eyebrow at the stun gun Q had pulled out of his pocket. “There, now you know that this isn’t a dream. And, as a thank you gesture from you for clearing that little misconception, I will accept skipping over the part where you tell me that you hate– Why are you stuffing your precious laptop back in your bag? You never do that unless you are leaving.”
“Because I am leaving,” Q huffed, zipping his back. “Tanner invited me to spend Christmas with his family and if I hurry, I might catch the last plane back to London and make it just in time.”
Bond walked over to the windows and pulled the drapes away, revealing a snowstorm. “I guess you’re stuck with me, Q.” His smile disappeared when he saw how disappointed Q looked and quickly walked over to him, pulling him to his chest. “Q, I really missed you and I wanted you to come to me for that reason only. I did not mean to imply that I was hurt, though Madeleine did say that I could be vague without wanting.”
He didn’t want to tell Bond that he missed him beyond belief or that his heart broke when he showed up just to get the keys and Q tortured himself even more by watching the security fee as the happy couple drove away. But he did push just slightly closer to Bond’s chest and closed his eyes, getting lost in the man’s smell, clutching to his shirt.
“I have to call Eve and let her know that it was just a false alarm and that I will be back as soon as the storm blows over,” he said in a steady voice, heart refusing to beat properly when Bond kissed his ear.
“Stay for longer than that, Q,” Bond whispered in his ear softly, rubbing small circles on his back. “For now, take a shower and a hot bath afterwards, then sleep your big eye bags away. I will take the sofa if you want or ask for another room for myself.”
The bed was awfully soft and just looking at the raging blizzard going on outside made Q shiver and want to get lost in the warm blankets. A shower also sounded nice, especially since every time he moved around and his clothes brushed against his skin made him feel like he had taken a quick dip in glue. And if this was nothing more than a one-time thing, which Q didn’t doubt, then so be it. He was tired to fight with his own heart and
“Well, since I am stuck here, I might as well be the one abusing your unusual kindness.” He sent Bond a glare when the man opened his mouth to defend himself. “M is still on my case about the car that you were so kind to return, once again, in pieces.”
Bond pulled a face, starting to pull Q towards the bathroom. “A thought had crossed my mind while driving that shocked me off the road, into a tree and off the bridge.”
Q dug his heels into the floor and forced James to stop, running his hands down his body until he started to outright undress him. He had to be sure that he was okay. He had to see with his own eyes that his agent was in one piece and that he didn’t have any permanent scratches.
Bond placed one of his large hands over both of Q’s, trapping them against his chest, chuckling as he cupped his face with his other one. “If you wanted to get me out of my clothes so fast, you should have told me.” He pecked Q’s pursed lips before he could push him away and fly out the door, snowstorm be dammed, effectively freeing him again. “I made you worry about me again, Q. I didn’t mean to; I went to a hospital afterwards and I am fine.”
Q was amazed about how soft Bond’s lips really was, his senses overwhelmed by the subtle gunpowder smell the man still emanated despite supposedly not having used a gun in over a year or so. His eyes fluttered closed and he leaned closer, sighing as the last bit of tension left his body.
“Come on, you shower while I draw you a nice, hot, relaxing bath,” Bond whispered and Q easily followed him, as he usually did.
He stripped the second Bond turned his back to him, put his clothes and glasses on the toilet and slipped into the shower, enjoying the warm water that ran down his body for a moment before starting to furiously scrub at the oil spots he had on him.
Everything still felt and looked surreal, Q glancing at Bond – James, his mind supplied, even if it was going to be for a short while – as he was kneeling next to the large bathtub, sleeves rolled up so he wouldn’t get his shirt wet while trying to get the water temperature just right.
“I would like to wash the hair you tugged on so many times because of me and the back on which I put on so many metaphorical weights, if you’d let me,” James said suddenly, startling Q out of his admiration. “I’ll make it quick, I promise.”
Q never was able to say no to those blue eyes, so of course he nodded and then walked out of the shower as if he was in a trance. When he realized that James was staring and saw him lick his lips slowly, he jumped into the tub and pulled his knees to his chest, trying to get as much foam around him as possible.
James chuckled, of course and took off his pants, sitting on the edge of the tub right behind Q, slipping his feet in the water. “I know the way that wonderful mind of yours works and the wrong conclusion you reached. I do wonder, by your reaction, if you planned on either asking me to keep the lights off or if you’d throw something at it?” He gently tugged Q’s head back, brushing his lower lip with his thumb. “Q, you are so much more than a one night stand. You are very special to me and I will treat you as such. I will stand by your side forever, even if I won’t come back as an agent.”
“Miss Swann was special to you,” Q muttered looking away from James. “I am sure you promised her the same thing and yet, she is back in Austria and I am naked in your hotel room in Switzerland.”
His eyes widened when he remembered MI6 and as if on cue, his phone started ringing. He tried getting up, but James held him in place, pecking his lips again before jumping out of the tub.
“Always a pleasure to hear your voice, Miss Moneypenny,” James purred into Q’s phone, Eve managing to sound angry and worried at the same time. “Now, if you’d let me get one word in, I could tell you that Q is safe and sound in my tub,” he moved out of the way just in time as Q tried to pull him in the water. “Please send M my best regards.”
“Bond, what is—” James ended the conversation before she could finish her question, turning the phone off just to be sure that no one would interrupt them anymore.
“I know; that was extremely rude of me. But guess what?” He slipped back into the tub and started to rub Q’s shoulders, lips right against his ear. “I couldn’t care less if I tried. They had you all to themselves for far too long.”
“Well, they didn’t retire.” Q sounded bitterer than what he would have liked. “Not that I am saying you shouldn’t have, but maybe…” He trailed off and started to play with the foam around his chest, sighing. He couldn’t tell James that he should have retired with him.
James seemed to understand what Q had wanted to say because he leaned close and kissed the base of his neck, running his hands down his back. “It’s just the two of us in the entire world, Q,” he whispered. “Eve will understand; she always does.”
At one point, between the back rub and the scalp massage, Q dozed off. He just leaned against James’ legs, closed his eyes and completely gave in to his exhaustion. He didn’t feel James trying to shake him awake or when he gave up and pulled him out of the tub and on the fluffy carpet in front of the tub. He just remembered that he was cold for a bit, then he had to fight for a really small blanket - it was the towel James was using to dry him - and then he was on a warm cloud.
He dreamed of running after James, car keys in hand, backpack filled to the brim with all sorts of gadgets that he didn’t know what did but he just had to give them to his agent. Just as he was reaching him, hands - or maybe tentacles - shot out from the ground and grabbed his legs, tripping him. When he tried to call out to Bond, sand filled his mouth and he started to suffocate.
But he was more worried about James walking into a storm, blind to everything but the beautiful swan that was just out of his reach. Lightning flashed and C appeared next to James, grinning back at Q as he played with a knife. ‘Please look away from the bird! Please, look behind you,’ Q tried to scream, clawing at his face and trying to kick whatever was holding him. 'Please wait for me and let me help you,’ he tried again to no avail, his heart breaking when he saw C stabbing James.
The ground started to shake and James screamed his name loud enough to shatter the world around him and plunge him into momentary darkness. He felt shame and disgrace for having failed James, desperation for not reaching him in time and for allowing that horrid man to kill him. If he had tried harder, if he had made better gadgets, James wouldn’t have left his side. If he had moved faster and thought further ahead, James wouldn’t have been completely and utterly alone in the field. If only he hadn’t had spots.
“Q, if you don’t wake up this instant, I’ll step on my heart and slap you!” Someone shouted right in his ear and he sat up straight, his forehead stinging as if he had bumped into something.
He felt one of his two darlings pushing their head against his back and, after rubbing his eyes furiously, he turned to hug it. “Daddy just had nightmare about that infuriating man again, darling, don’t worry,” he whispered, rubbing his head against the cat until he realized that it was a hand and he screamed, rolling out of bed.
“Q, you’re in a hotel with me in Switzerland, remember?” James asked, slowly getting out of bed in case any sudden movements spooked Q. “We’re both safe and, just like you said, you had a nightmare.” He placed a hand on Q’s head and when he was sure that the man wouldn’t try to run away, he wrapped his arms around him and pulled him to his chest.
They sat like that for a long time, Q listening to James’ beating heart and counting how many times it did that a minute just to be sure that everything was real, James kissing the top of his head every now and then, hugging him tightly.
When he finally stopped shaking, James put him back in the bed and wrapped the blankets around him, putting his glasses on his nose and arranging his hair. “I’ll call room service to bring you something light to eat and a cup of tea to help you get back to sleep, okay?” Q nodded and James kissed his forehead. “Do you want anything in particular? They love me so much here that they’ll go fight a shark and cook it, if I ask.”
Q sketched a smile and shook his head. “Isn’t it a bit too early for room service?” He realized only then that his throat was scratchy and for a moment, he panicked when he remembered the sand in his dream.
James pushed a glass of water to his lips and sat down next to him. “It’s actually ten in the morning. I thought about waking you up at 8 to go down to breakfast, but Eve said you had been awake for almost two days, so I shut the drapes to keep the light out.”
Q nodded his thanks and grabbed James’ shirt when the man tried to move away from him, pushing his head against his chest. He wanted him to stay for a bit, tired of seeing him walk away and still upset over his nightmare. And James understood because he wrapped his arms around him and laid down, rubbing small circles on Q’s lower back.
James watched over Q as the man slept one more hour and then ordered a light breakfast for both of them. He regretted not ordering more when Q devoured everything that had been placed in front of him in less than five minutes.
“I’ve never been to Switzerland,” Q said just before James could suggest calling room service for some more food. “Well, I have, but never as an actual tourist.” He had started to play with his empty cup of tea and James asked himself for the millionth time how he could have missed the jewel of a man that was right in front of him.
James smiled and ran the back of his hand down Q’s face. “We’ll just have to fix that now, won’t we?”
They left their room around noon, Q dressed with every shirt he had in his little back in an attempt to counter the cold. But it only took him five minutes outside their hotel to start shivering, so James decided that clothes shopping was in order and insisted that he would pay for everything Q bought. After all, it was his fault that Q came ill prepared for a vacation, but was armed to the teeth if he wanted to take down the economical and computer systems of a country.
He didn’t comment or pull any faces when Q picked out the most colourful shirts and sweaters his eyes landed on – he did buy a white jacket that when it was zipped, it helped Q get lost in the snowy background in case they were attacked – and even accepted to let him buy a 'proper’ sweater from his own money.
It was soft and it didn’t itch, but it was the most hideous thing James had ever seen. It was bright and screamed ‘Christmas’ from a mile away, but he suspected that Q wanted to see it on him not because he loved the holiday, but because he could spot James a mile away due to how colourful it was.
James could have completely covered the appalling piece of cloth by fully zipping up his jacket and rearranging his scarf around his neck, but Q was smiling and not in a mocking way. So of course he gritted his teeth in his mind and thanked his lucky stars that the thing didn’t have lights or obnoxious songs to go with the horrendous colours.
They finally sat down in a restaurant to eat and James watched in amazement as Q easily finished two orders of braised beef with polenta, one order of Zurich-style ragout of veal with mushrooms and looking more than ready for the Bern-style lekerlis biscuits with hazelnuts.
“How annoyed am I going to be after you tell when the last time you ate was?” James asked, leaning over the table to wipe Q’s mouth. “Not counting the breakfast we had together.”
Embarrassed, Q tried to keep himself from blushing. In his domain, he could easily force his mind to focus on the task at hand and forget what James did to him, but in the dimly lit restaurant, after he had slept next to his infatuation of many years and after being seen naked and washed by him made it extremely hard.
“I will hazard a guess and say Eve-levels of annoyance since I remember throwing a pizza box on the night before I left London.” Or maybe a donut when he was inspecting the car parts that had been delivered? He never bothered to remember when he ate, often going on for days without eating if the projects he worked on were considered more important than that.
“I think I just invented the Bond-level,” James grumbled, looking around for the waiter so he could order Q more food. “But the car is almost done, right?” He had meant to scold Q for putting something mechanical above himself, but he realized he had done something wrong the second he saw Q’s frown.
It was the frown he had whenever Bond touched something in his office that he wasn’t supposed to or when he returned from a mission empty-handed. Eve affectionately called it Q’s hard stare and assured James that he was the only one who got it.
“I am three parts away from once again having a fully functional and improved Aston Martin DB5.” He put the cutlery on the side of the empty plate. “Thank you for the lunch, but I am afraid I couldn’t eat another bite.”
James grabbed Q’s hand and squeezed it before the man pulled away. “Then I’ll ask for the bill and we’ll go do something more fun.” He signalled the waiter over and pulled his chair closer to Q’s. “Tell me, do you know how to skate?”
Furrowing his brows, Q started to feel afraid for the sturdiness of his bones. “You would be more surprised if I said yes, which I won’t because I never lie to you.”
James smirked and Q got even more scared. “Excellent because I plan on teaching you. And do not worry; I’ll hold you really close and tight to make sure that you won’t fall.” He stole a quick peck and then paid the waiter, dragging a still stunned Q out of the restaurant.
And wasn’t it just typical of Bond, Q thought as he pulled his hand free, to find someone’s weakness and then use it against him? In his case, it was every time he showed him even a tiniest bit of affection, so of course a kiss would shut down his brain, no matter how innocent it was.
“I know you’re up to something, Bond,” Q said coldly as he finally gave up and let the man have his hand. Bond always got what he wanted and, truth be told, even if he was currently upset with him and confused to his true intentions, Q was happy to give it to him.
“Just trying to win your heart and nothing more,” Bond assured him, planting a kiss on the thick glove before trapping Q’s hand in his pocket with his. “Or rather, win it back.” His voice was full of real determination and that pleased Q beyond belief. But he was going to hold on to being upset for a while longer.
They drove to a park at the entrance of which, a sleigh complete with two white horses awaited them. James made sure Q was properly covered with the blanket before he leaned back with him snuggled against his chest, resting his chin on top of his head.
“You are really not holding back, are you?” Q muttered, getting more comfortable.
“Everything and anything for my Q,” James replied, pushing the man’s red beanie hat back to kiss his hair.
Thirty minutes later, Q was seated on a log and James was kneeling in front of him, helping him put his skates on. The frozen lake was completely abandoned and the innocent look on James’ face did nothing but confirm Q’s suspicions that the man had bribed every one off the lake.
“We’ll walk around the ice for a bit. I’ll be ‘the wall’ you’re supposed to hold on, so do not worry.” James easily picked up Q and plopped him on the ice before the man even realized what was happening.
Q dug his fingers in James’ arms and held on as tightly as he could, biting his lower lip. “I do not recall saying that I want to learn how to do this. I am perfectly happy walking on ground that is solid all the time.” His legs were shaking and he hated feeling the ground slip out from under him when he so as much as tried to sit up straight.
“I won’t let you fall,” James said, squeezing Q’s arms to get the man to stop looking at his feet and focus on his face. “Trust me, Q. I will never let you fall or get harmed.” He started in Q’s eyes until he saw a bit of determination in them and then smiled, pushing himself back on the ice. “Now, what I am going to tell you will apply to more than just ice skating. You need to keep your body loose and relaxed.”
“James,” Q growled warningly, eyes narrowed. “
Chuckling, James took a sharp turn that had Q taking a sharp breath. “You’ll glide easier if you are relaxed, Q, honestly.” He stopped and waited to feel at least a bit of the tension in Q’s body leave. “Good, now bend your knees slightly and lean forward.”
Q leaned forward too fast and too much and bumped his forehead against James’ chin hard, both man groaning but James still holding on tight to him. “Okay, we’re both hurt and you made your point. Can we stop now?” Q all but whined, hands on his forehead.
Placing a kiss on Q’s hands, James took another sharp turn on the ice. “Quartermaster, you have never given up on something so easily. Do you really want something as ridiculous as frozen water to be the thing that defeated you?”
“I am more concerned over the state of our bones at the end of this little lesson,” Q admitted, returning to clinging to James. “You are stronger than me and slightly taller, but if I trip, I’ll bring both of us down. And if we fall in a place where the ice is too thin then—“
James kissed him then. Not pecked his lips, but actually kissed him. And his lips were still soft despite Q’s being chapped and his tongue reminded him of a snake, although it brushed slowly against his.
He smelled like snow and the kiss was just like Q had imagined, demanding yet tender, sweet yet harsh and it sent jolts of need, want and craving down Q’s body. It was easy to see why the man was so good at honeypot missions and why so many were willing to betray their country and employer for just a single night with him.
Q never faulted the ones who fell for him; he was, in fact jealous of them. They had to kiss him, touch him, to spend a few intimate moments with James before falling for him while he, a scrawny boffin with too much knowledge for his age and a mouth too big for his own good had lost his heart to a simple acknowledgement of his usefulness and resourcefulness despite his age.
How pathetic he must be if he was willing to do anything for someone who took things from him so easily and without a real show of affection. What was he going to give James now that he kissed him? The man already had his trust, his soul, and his heart. All that was left was his body and even that, Q was willing to give to James without the kiss.
Of course he never thought the man would have wanted it, despite his sexual orientation beyond as disoriented as Q’s. The women he liked were thin, but not sickly so, decent bust and back size, with just a touch of frailness underneath their toughness. But the man James invited in his bed were rough, muscular, no trace of vulnerability in them – from what Q had seen.
And he was Q. Brilliant, witty, smart Q who watched over the owner of his heart and gave and gave and failed in his every relationship after becoming a Quartermaster because he ran out of his own sort-of conjugal bed the second James was in trouble.
The kiss ended because they had run out of breath and Q was surprised to find himself on top of James, in the snow. He looked around disorientated, finding themselves on the other side of the lake and he had to add a few more points to James’ kissing abilities if he had moved them without him noticing it.
“You kiss better than I had imagined it,” James whispered, cupping Q’s face as it turned red, a soft smile on his puffy lips. “But I never dreamed you’d taste so addicting and sound so tantalizingly good.” He tugged Q towards him and kissed his cold nose before pushing him against his chest and covering most of his face with his scarf.
The world could end and Q would be happy. Actually, Q was hoping the world would end before James opened his mouth and said something that brought him down from that 7th heaven he was in.
“There is only one thing I want from you,” James said in a low voice and the voice that sounded like the old M whispered in Q’s mind that his heart was about to get ripped out of his chest, stepped on, set on fire and pissed upon.
“So who kidnapped Miss Swann and how many laws and protocols do you expect me to break to help you to get her back?”
James clicked his tongue and sat up, pulling Q after him. “She was right when she warned me that you’d think I’m up to something.” He arranged Q’s glasses and tapped his nose. “How she laughed when I told her from the hospital bed that I had realized I was beyond smitten with you and that, when the car dived in the water, I was actually afraid that I’d never get to tell you.”
Q was torn between feeling cold and warm, eyes wide, afraid to take a breath in case the world around him would shattered and he found himself in that disgusting chair Blofeld had created.
“So what I ask of you is to be happy,” James continued, brushing the little bit of snow that had gotten on Q. “I wish you’d be happy with me and, after a few conversations with three distinct people, I realized you might be.”
“Selfish,” Q whispered. “You are a selfish man who would devour me whole and then snap his fingers and demand the space I left behind you to continue to server your every whim and desire.”
James made a little noise in the back of his throat, but did not pull away from Q. “And stupid, because I did not realize how much I cared for you until it was, hopefully, almost too late. Or is it too late and you are giving me this time to say goodbye? Because if it is, please tell me so I might do even more to change your mind and get another chance.”
Q snorted, shaking his head. “I am too weak to move on from you, you twat. And not like Eve or Tanner didn’t try to help me either. But they fail because, and I regret saying this because the smug look you have on your face is already annoying, they were not you.”
“If I am happy to hear that, does it make me horrible?” Q nodded and James laughed, going back on the ice with Q in his arms. “A twat as well, I suppose?” Q hummed and held tighter when they started to twirl. “But are you happy that I am your horrible selfish twat?” He stopped in the middle and pushed Q’s head up, showing him the Christmas lights that were just being turned on.
And they were beautiful, Q turning in James’ arms to get a better look, mouth falling open in awe. “I don’t think I’ve ever been this happy and it scares me,” Q whispered and James held on tighter to him. “Are you sure you do not want anything that might land me in prison or marked for death by our own agency?”
“I’ll work hard to show you just how much I love you.” He easily turned Q around to face him. “It’s time I start giving you everything I can and beyond.”
“Good because I am not going to forgive you so easily.” A lie that it was obvious for both of them, but that didn’t mean James was going to try any less to show how important the man was to him.
Q closed his eyes and they shared a slow kiss, one that was meant to say everything that simple words couldn’t. And Q fully relaxed and accepted this as the date it was and James smiled against his lips when he felt that, breaking the kiss to spin Q and then kiss him again.
The lake started to fill with people and music started to play, but as far as Q and James were concerned, lips locked, arms around each other, effortlessly gliding around everyone, it was still just the two of them and no one else.