Chapter Text
After Therese’s assessment, Q was allowed to leave medical. He dressed and paid a brief visit to M. From there, Bond escorted him to one of the secure flats kept in the building for when staff’s homes might be compromised.
“How are you doing?” asked Bond when they entered and Q looked around the plain little space. It was rather like a hotel room with a small kitchenette. The only decoration a small bookshelf with a few books and DVDs held up by a set of bulldog bookends. Q had seen this room, or one like it, on a tour of the building but had never expected to be staying in one. He had a couch in his office in Q-branch and kept a change of clothes for the occasions when he had to stay long hours.
“I’m fine, 007.”
“What did psych say?”
“I’m on light to no duty until they determine the extent of my ‘trauma’,” Q clearly didn’t like that last word and Bond could hear the sarcastic scare quotes that Q added as he spoke it. “No electronics for a bit either.” He frowned but didn’t say that part reminded him rather uncomfortably of Raoul’s treatment.
“And M?”
Now Q attempted not to scowl. “That I’m not allowed to participate in the search for Raoul. That when it comes to him, they can’t trust me to act in my own self-interest, let alone the interests of the agency or national security.”
“What did you say to that?” asked Bond curiously.
“That I’ve worked with field agents long enough to know half of MI6 can’t be trusted to act in their own self-interest.”
“Touché,” said Bond. “And his response?”
Q pursed his lips for a moment, “Indeed, and we all compensate for that tendency to make certain they come home safely—don’t we quartermaster?”
“Ouch,” said Bond. Then he asked more thoughtfully. “Is he wrong?”
“No,” said Q.
Bond gave Q a brief description of his security plan. Bond would be staying in the flat next door and would be available anytime Q needed him. A more junior agent would be stationed at Q’s door for the night. Bond would be back on duty in the morning.
Q resisted the urge to ask if they planned to monitor him. He chose instead to pretend not to know the flats were all wired for it. It felt undignified to ask them not to when he couldn’t actually stop them.
Medical had offered him something to help him sleep. He’d refused, fearing another sedative would merely remind him of what Raoul had given him. Nothing on the bookshelf appealed and he wasn’t yet tired, so he sat down to see if there was anything worth watching until he was exhausted enough to sleep.
Early the next morning, Bond, freshly showered and dressed in shirtsleeves, (Guard duty inside headquarters didn’t rate a suit in his opinion.), took over from the more junior agent who’d spent the night outside Q’s door.
The other agent reported that Q had watched Dr. Who reruns until just after midnight, then retired. He’d had a moderately restless but, from a security perspective, uneventful night. Bond thanked the young woman and settled in to wait for Q to wake.
It wasn’t long until he heard the ‘restless’ sleep the other agent had mentioned. Or perhaps this was worse. He could tell Q was having a nightmare and after weighing whether or not it was intrusive or inappropriate, (yes, probably both) quietly unlocked the door and entered.
Q had thrown off the covers at some point and looked, if anything, more vulnerable than he had when Bond had entered Q’s actual flat the afternoon before. Q was dressed only in his pants and Bond supposed that, jokes about the damage he could cause in his pajamas aside, there was no reason for the man to have kept a set at work. But he looked cold and he was clearly still distressed by whatever he dreamt. Bond moved to pull the covers back over Q hoping that if Q didn’t wake, he also wouldn’t remember the dream.
Q didn’t wake but reached toward Bond when he spread the blanket over his shoulders. Bond couldn’t avoid the grasping hands and found himself sitting on the bed with his quartermaster clinging to him like a lost child. He awkwardly adjusted pillows so that he could lean back comfortably without disturbing Q.
It was nearly an hour before Q began to stir, first to nestle closer to Bond, which Bond found pleasant, and then to freeze like a prey animal, which Bond found heart wrenching.
“It’s me, Bond,” he said. “You’re safe. You’re in a flat at headquarters.”
Q relaxed slowly. “It seems ungrateful to ask,” he said eventually, “because it’s certainly not unwelcome, but why are we cuddling?”
“You sounded distressed and I looked in to check on you. You’d had a nightmare and kicked off your bedding. When I replaced them you reached out and clung to me. I was afraid to wake you and then I was pleased to see you resting comfortably,” said Bond.
“And apparently drooling on you a bit,” observed Q. “Terribly sorry about that.”
Bond chuckled. “Any time.”
Q laughed too and shook his head.
“Hmm?”
Bond could feel Q smile against his chest. “Don’t mind him, he’s my emotional support assassin. I bring him everywhere with me.”
“Everywhere?” asked Bond archly. He was pleasantly surprised Q hadn’t moved to disentangle himself but kept his head resting on Bond’s shoulder as they spoke.
“Don’t get your hopes up, I suspect I’m not to do anything fun unless it’s been cleared by psych.”
“You’ll have to tell me when that changes then,” said Bond, cautiously flirtatious.
“Best not volunteer for complex assignments before learning the mission parameters Agent Bond,” said Q.
“Never learned that lesson,” said Bond.
“And I suppose ending up in bed with a villain’s castoffs is all part of the job,” said Q.
“Don’t,” said Bond gently.
Q sighed. “That sounded funnier in my head,” he admitted.
“I’m not a psychopath,” said Bond.
“I didn’t mean…” Q began.
“It’s fine Q,” said Bond. “I have to pretend to be one fairly often, but I know that ‘a villain’s castoffs’ as you call them are often people who have been hurt and are just trying to survive. I’m trained to recognize that, even take advantage of it if there’s no other option, but I also try to help them when I can. When the mission allows.”
“Speaking of psych having a field day,” said Q. “Should we talk about this apparent savior complex?”
“Sometimes it goes wrong,” Bond admitted. “More often than I’d like and that’s my trauma. There are very few things more dangerous to someone being abused than attempting to leave. You found your opportunity and you took it,” said Bond. “And I know how courageous that was.”
“It doesn’t feel courageous just now,” said Q.
“You’ll need time,” said Bond. “Should I let go of you now that you’re awake?”
“Wait a bit if you don’t mind?” asked Q softly.
“Whatever you need,” said Bond.
“It’s…” Q began and then stopped.
“It doesn’t have to mean anything,” said Bond. “And you don’t have to explain.”
“But it might help me if I do,” said Q. “Present company excluded, Raoul is the only person who’s touched me in ages. It would be nice to have another memory to replace that.”
“I can understand that.”
“And you smell good,” said Q.
Bond chuckled. “Thank you, I try.”
“And yet, I can’t help but feel manipulated.”
“By me?” asked Bond. “I’ll catch a reprimand if there’s even a hint of me taking advantage of you, you know.”
Q shook his head. “You can’t have missed that someone has more or less thrown me at you. It would be highly convenient for everyone at MI6 if I were to transfer my feelings for him to you.”
“Does that seem likely?”
Q shifted so he could look up at Bond and smiled ruefully. “When I’m traumatized, vulnerable, desperate to feel safe and protected? It’s a reasonable bet that I’m going to imprint on you like a baby bird,” he said.
“And how do you feel about that?”
“I want to tell you everything he ever did to me,” said Q, he moved still closer and Bond realized Q was aroused and didn’t care whether, or possibly even wanted Bond to know it. “Let you tell me how brave and broken I am, then you can tell me what you would do instead, what refinements you’d add.”
“You should be aware,” said Bond as he shifted uncomfortably, “I have neither the inclination nor the ability to do that for you.”
“I know. I’m sorry,” said Q. “But you asked. I’m an addict who just got his first fix in fifteen years. And now I’m in a building surrounded by people whose job it is to keep me from ever getting another. Surely you can understand why I might be seeking alternate sources.”
“I do understand,” said Bond. “What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to shower and eat breakfast and spend the morning talking to my therapist,” said Q. “After lunch, I’ll work on something everyone agrees is no risk to me or the agency.”
“How do you mean?” asked Bond.
“No firearms or explosives or otherwise dangerous materials, nothing that can communicate outside the building, nothing that could subvert the surveillance I’m currently under.”
“What does that leave?” asked Bond dubiously.
“004 needs a piece of jewelry with a hidden compartment for her next mission. I’d finished the design and requisitioned the materials last week. I’d intended to hand the build off to a tech but It will keep me busy for at least a couple of days.”
“It all sounds sensible,” said Bond.
Q sighed. “I’d almost rather be Raoul’s prisoner again than talk to anyone about what happened,” he admitted.
“You’ve told me rather a lot,” said Bond.
“I know you,” said Q. “Trust you. I’ve talked to her for less than an hour while hungover from whatever Raoul used to drug me. And…” Q paused to grimace, “I’ve never actually met with a psychologist for therapy before. I don’t even know what to expect.”
“Your first session with your therapist, she should be working to make you as comfortable as possible and establish trust. Yes, there are parts that will be difficult, but you shouldn’t be distressed by anything that happens.” Bond reached into a pocket and pulled out a small, familiar object.
“A radio?” asked Q.
“Distress signal,” said Bond. “If you need to get away from it, send me a signal and I’ll find an excuse to interrupt.”
“You stole this from Q-branch,” said Q.
“Mea culpa,” said Bond. “And now I’m returning it to the head of the department.”