AdrianMarx Posted May 31, 2016 Share Posted May 31, 2016 (edited) So, this was going to be a one-shot with hardly any plot but I got excited so now it's going to be a couple of parts. I'm not sure how many but it certainly doesn't end here. Yeah. I hope you like it though I did notice there was a lack of 007 fic so I'm not sure if there will be much interest. I personally picture this set in the Daniel Craig/Ben Whishaw films (because BEN WHISHAW) but feel free to picture it however you like - Being Quartermaster to 007 was not an easy job at the best of times and this was certainly not the best of times. Today marked the first time Q had ever considered himself sick enough to stay home from work. With a fever above 102 degrees and a voice which begged for rest, Q had sent an encrypted email directly to M and had anxiously awaited the reply which came in the form of Moneypenny checking in to make sure he was, indeed, as ill as he had claimed to be. Satisfied with what she found, Moneypenny had left him to suffer. Now, curled up in bed and swaddled in every blanket he owned, Q quietly wished for death to take him quickly. His temperature yoyo-ed between sweltering and shivering every few minutes and his sinuses ached with the pressure of his congestion. Honestly, though he prided himself on his vast vocabulary, there was only one word for how Q felt at that moment: shit. Q’s least favourite thing about this wretched cold by far was the sneezing. He didn’t think he’d mind so much if they just behaved in the way sneezes normally do but these were horrendously stubborn and required a great deal of itchy impatience before they would expel themselves with a force which practically bent Q’s thin body in half (the way it was supposed to bend, of course - ie. forwards from the waist - as anything else would have been cause for concern). Though, he thought as his lungs hacked painfully in his chest, the coughing was probably second on the list of Q’s Least Favourite Cold Symptoms. “Hhh...eHh…Oh for goodness sahhh…” Grumbling quietly to himself, Q let out his breath and sniffled miserably, rubbing at his angry nose with his handkerchief. Q had always been partial to handkerchiefs. Though unsanitary, they reminded him of period dramas and Q, though he’d never admit it, was a sucker for period dramas. Currently, he was watching - or trying to watch; curse this itch! - the 1995 BBC adaptation of Pride and Prejudice starring the ever beautiful Colin Firth. Oh, the things he would do to that man… Q’s attention was drawn by a soft meow from beside him just in time to see his black and grey patched cat hop up onto the bed beside him. With a sigh, he reached out to run his hand over C-Sharp’s back, eliciting a small purr of pleasure. C-Sharp moved gracefully up his chest until she could rub the top of her head beneath Q’s chin. He smiled. “Well,” he muttered hoarsely, running his hand over her back again and using his free hand to rub impatiently at his nose. “I’m glad at least one of us is functional.” As if replying, C-Sharp gave another meow and hopped onto the pillow beside Q’s head, catching his nose with her tail as she did so. Now, Q certainly wasn’t allergic to cats but his poor nose was already unbearably sensitive and the soft touch was all he needed to tip him over the edge. “Ehh! Hehtishhoo! Tish! Tsh! Tsshhu! Huh...hhtISHooo!” Q gave his nose a rough blow into his handkerchief, collapsing back against the pillows, chest heaving with exhaustion. C-Sharp, unfazed by his fit, climbed back into his lap again. He sniffed thickly. “Thanks,” he said, the congestion blatantly obvious in his voice now. He sighed, triggering a single cough with the threat of more burning in his chest. Today was definitely not a good day. A sharp knock at the door startled Q from his hazy thoughts. Sleepily, he pushed C-Sharp off to the side and felt around for the remote, retrieving it from a disappearing into a pile of blanket folds, and put the television on pause before stumbling through the living room to the front door. It took his fumbling hands a moment to undo the latch and his brain was so muddled that he didn’t even think to glance at the security monitor on the table next to him before he opened it to reveal- “Hello Q,” said Bond, flashing a winning smile before swanning into Q’s flat like he lived there. It took the fevered Quartermaster a good few seconds to catch up. Regaining himself, he shut the door and turned to find Bond, hands in pockets with a smug smile on his face, eyebrows raised at the sight of Q’s red, kitten-covered pyjamas. “007,” he said with all the dignity he could muster, well aware that his n’s sounded much more like d’s than usual. “What brings you here at-” he glanced at the clock. “Goodness, is it only 11am?” Given that Q felt as though he’d been sick for at least a week now, he was quite disappointed to find out that he’d only been awake for six hours. Ignoring Q’s dismay, Bond cocked a half smile in his direction. “I need your help,” he said and Q groaned internally. “And here I was hoping you were here to wish me well.” “It’s a cold, Q, you’re hardly dying,” Bond said with an air of exasperation about him. Q rolled his eyes - regretting it when it hurt - and thought about all the ways he could kill Bond to calm himself down. He could feel Bond’s eyes sliding up and down his body and might have flushed from the attention had he not been too exhausted to care about the blanket draped around his shoulders or the sodden handkerchief clutched tight in his other hand or his bare feet on the cold wooden floor. He sighed. “What do you need?” “Remember when you told me you could do more damage on your laptop sitting in your pyjamas before your first cup of Earl Grey than I could do in a year in the field?” Bond asked, picking up a pen from Q’s coffee table and examining it with interest. Q thought about telling him it exploded just for the fun of it. “I recall.” Bond smirked, looking Q up and down. “Were these the pyjamas you were talking about?” Q shot him a withering look but he didn’t manage to hold the glare for very long because the ever-present tickle swelled in his nose and he brought up his handkerchief, holding it a few inches from his face while his breath hitched. His eyes watered, forcing themselves shut in response to his twitching nose. He took a deep breath. He almost had it… “Bless you,” said Bond, just as the tension left Q’s body and the itch lessened until it was back to being just slightly too annoying to ignore. Shooting a teary glare at Bond, Q sniffed and asked again, “What do you need?” Bond grew serious, tucking he pen back into the holder - upside down! - and beginning to pace. “There’s a drug cartel operating in northern Austria. They’ve been active for a while. I’ve tracked them down a few times but now we don’t have time for games.” Q frowned. “Hostages?” Bond nodded. “Refugees fleeing Syria following the crisis.” Q closed his eyes. Hell. “How m-” “200, probably more,” Bond cut in and something in his voice told Q he was much more disgusted than he let on. “Mostly women and children. Branded. Some already dead.” Q swallowed thickly, the pressure building in his head again. Using refugees for free labour. It was times like this he was reminded why he got into the secret intelligence business and, as much as it would please him immensely to punch Bond hard in the face, he had to admit that his heart was in the right place. If Bond had a heart, of course. Q still had his money on Bond being an anomaly of science. Certainly, he’d survived several scrapes that should have killed him already - lacking a vital organ didn’t seem out of the question. Feeling quite unable to stand anymore, Q lowered himself onto the sofa, leaving Bond to pace. Clearly, Bond had a plan or he’d never have come to Q in the first place. Though why on earth he hadn’t gone to M for assistance was a mystery to- oh. “007,” Q asked weakly. “I’ve been absent for exactly six hours. Pray tell how you managed to get back onto M’s hitlist in that time.” “Another story for another time, Q,” said Bond cockily and Q didn’t ask again. Truth be told, all this ‘being attentive’ nonsense was starting to make him a little dizzy. Eyes closed and head resting against the back of the sofa, Q said wearily, “I’ll ask again. What do you need?” Bond’s silence prompted Q to crack open one eye curiously and, for a moment, Bond looked at him with something like concern but it was gone before Q had a chance to analyse it. “I need you to do some damage with that laptop,” he said and then smirked. “And look. You’re already in your pyjamas.” Returning to his list of ways to murder Bond and hide the body, Q shakily stood, leaving his blanket behind, and went back to his bedroom to fetch his laptop. He had intended to bring it back to the living room but he turned to find Bond standing in his bedroom doorway, surveying the mess with barely disguised glee. Q could already tell he was never going to live this down. For someone so pedantic about the cleanliness of his office, he was currently living amid disorganised piles of books and papers. Clearing his throat for Bond’s attention, he sat back down in his blanket structure (which could easily be classified a small fort) and fired up his laptop. Bond, somewhat awkwardly due to the obstacles, took to pacing Q’s small bedroom in a way which Q might have found infuriating had he had the energy. After moments, Q turned the screen to show Bond the mugshot of a man with dark skin and a shaved head though his sideburns were still intact. He had a scar running past his nose, barely skimming the corner of his left eye. Q sniffed again, lifting the handkerchief to his nose as he spoke. “The leader of the ring. I believe you’ve met?” Bond frowned. “Indeed.” “Couldn’t find his real name online. Whoever erased him from the internet certainly was thor-uhh’HEHchoo!” Q clamped his handkerchief over his nose, sighing in relief when the tickle eased somewhat. “Excuse me,” he said, just as Bond said, “Gesundheit.” What had he been talking about? Goodness, this fever was making him slow. Oh. Of course. “Known simply as B.D.” He finished, forcing the last two letters out before turning away to cough. “Can you trace him?” Bond asked, earning a pointed look from Q which clearly said do you think I’m an idiot? Raising his arms in mock surrender, Bond turned away. “Just make it quick.” Q sighed as he plugged the algorithm into his system, frowning when the screen went suddenly black. What? It was only when the red skull popped up in the middle of his screen that he realised he’d been hacked. “Damn it!” He yelled, the strain tearing at his poor throat. With what little strength his anger brought him, he closed his laptop sharply and pitched forward, handkerchief forgotten. “EhhtISHHoo! Ishh’hoo!” “Q?” Bond’s voice demanded attention but Q couldn’t give it to him. He was too busy with- “hhEHHISHOO!” “Bless you,” Bond said but Q didn’t have his wits about him enough to appreciate that Bond had switched from his usual Gesundheit to a softer, gentler sound. When he glanced up, Bond was holding out a tissue which Q took gratefully and gave his nose a harsh blow, coughing slightly afterwards. He discarded the tissue in the wastepaper bin. Bond cautiously crouched next to the bed, forcing Q to meet his eye. “What is it?” “I- It’s my fault,” Q muttered eventually, feeling drained and defeated. “Someone hacked my system. I- I didn’t see it coming.” Bond frowned. He looked for a moment like he wanted to say something - perhaps something comforting - but he didn’t. He just frowned and frowned until Q pushed himself shakily to his feet and stumbled back out into the living room. He righted the pen Bond had disturbed earlier and sighed, shivering in just his pyjamas. “Did they get anything?” Bond’s voice sounded far away but Q did his best to process it. Did who get anything? From where? “Um, they- oh,” he began, which was really how he knew he was horribly ill. Q wasn’t one to muddle his words. “I can’t be sure.” “Worst case scenario?” Bond asked, voice level. Q sighed. “Locations.” Bond swore quietly under his breath. “What are the chances?” “I-” Q started, but stopped when his words caught in his throat. “Tell me, Q!” Bond said impatiently. “What are the chances they got that information decrypted?” Q closed his eyes, thinking. “Less than 1%,” he said, suddenly feeling very lightheaded. “If they have that information, they’ll have traced my address first. It’s part of the decryption. It’s tied to...hh...oh snf it’s t-tied to th-the GP-ehh-ehh’TSSHoo! the GPS.” Q felt Bond’s hand on his arm, steadying him. He nodded his thanks and sat on the arm of the sofa. “They have your address?” Bond said slowly. “Possibly,” Q said, sounding much calmer than he felt. “We’ll know soon enough.” Bond sprang into action then, pushing Q towards the door before he stopped, holding the very confused Quartermaster by the wrist. “The rest of your equipment,” Bond said. “What have you got here?” “Not much,” Q sniffled. “The computer systems will have been wiped when they detected the hack. Hard drive has backups.” Bond was gone in an instant and Q found himself doubled over again, clutching his chest and coughing as he struggled to force air in and out of his lungs. He looked around blearily for his handkerchief but he honestly couldn’t remember when he’d last seen it. Was the room spinning or was he just dizzy? Forgetting completely about the possible impending danger, or perhaps just desperate to rest, Q started towards his bedroom only to be whirled around by Bond and dragged towards the door. “Where-” “Wait,” Bond interrupted, leaving Q shivering on the landing while he darted back inside, emerging with the blanket Q had brought to the door with him. Without wasting a moment - not even to explain - he wrapped it around Q’s shoulders and pushed him towards the staircase. “Come on,” he said briskly. They had navigated only two flights when they heard a crash from above. Q stumbled over the last few steps and let Bond do the work as he was dragged towards the car, barely feeling the cold and damp of the ground outside in his hazy panic. The car revved into life, along with the pounding in Q’s head, and they were in the busy London traffic before Q could even coax out a particularly stubborn sneeze. Edited April 8, 2019 by AdrianMarx Link to comment
RiversD Posted May 31, 2016 Share Posted May 31, 2016 *squeals of delight from my little corner* Just seeing that you had written some Q made me ridiculously happy, because I trust your treatment of even those characters I'm normally super-protective over, and I'm always up for some Bondverse fic. And oooh, I was not disappointed. My notes (which I now realise quote most of the text, but eh. I'm hardly going to crop my praise at this point): 5 hours ago, Adrian said: a voice which begged for rest -I am going to take this phrase, squirrel it away in a special box, and look at it sometimes when I want to feel all happy-gooey inside, because goshdarnit such good words. 5 hours ago, Adrian said: “Hhh...eHh…Oh for goodness sahhh…” - Everything, everything about Q's stubborn, itchy, needy sneezes in this are a comfort to my very soul, Adrian, but I'm highlighting this bit in particular as the moment my brain went all light and my heart buckled in 'cause it realised it was in for a ride. - The image of anyone curling up sick and watching period dramas is adorable, frankly. And the description of Q's pajamas later makes this an even cuter image on the re-read. - I love that his cat is named C-Sharp. - Oh, poor confused boy, being swanned all over by Bond. 5 hours ago, Adrian said: Q thought about telling him it exploded just for the fun of it. - See, this sort of thing is why I rate you so highly for maintenance of character-integrity in fics. Also, super funny. A healthy Q totally would have. 5 hours ago, Adrian said: “Bless you,” said Bond, just as the tension left Q’s body - Ahh, poor boy, that's so awkward and annoying. Although I kinda like that Bond gets his blessings in early enough to seem smug about it whether or not the sneeze turned up. 5 hours ago, Adrian said: tucking the pen back into the holder - upside down! -Gasp! How dare you! I want to set it straight right now, and it's a fictional pen. Bond, you total cad. 5 hours ago, Adrian said: “007,” Q asked weakly. “I’ve been absent for exactly six hours. Pray tell how you managed to get back onto M’s hitlist in that time.” “Another story for another time, Q,” said Bond cockily and Q didn’t ask again. - I'm not sure I want to know, and yet I do. Badly. (mind you, I'm 90% sure my response to knowing it would simply be "you idiot, Bond.") 5 hours ago, Adrian said: Truth be told, all this ‘being attentive’ nonsense was starting to make him a little dizzy. - Oh, love. Let me hold you. - nice bad guy/evil deeds a-doing, by the way. Very topical, very Bond. 5 hours ago, Adrian said: Bond’s silence prompted Q to crack open one eye curiously and, for a moment, Bond looked at him with something like concern but it was gone before Q had a chance to analyse it. -*internally combusts because he caaares* Mr smooth-sailing-secret-agent caaaares. 5 hours ago, Adrian said: “Damn it!” He yelled, the strain tearing at his poor throat. With what little strength his anger brought him, he closed his laptop sharply and pitched forward, handkerchief forgotten. “EhhtISHHoo! Ishh’hoo!” “Q?” Bond’s voice demanded attention but Q couldn’t give it to him. He was too busy with- “hhEHHISHOO!” - Okay, this whole section and the paragraph following it are deeply unfair in their dealings with my emotions, and are also incredibly hot, okay? 6 hours ago, Adrian said: Bond frowned. He looked for a moment like he wanted to say something - perhaps something comforting - but he didn’t. He just frowned and frowned until Q pushed himself shakily to his feet and stumbled back out into the living room. - These are good words, in a good order. I like these words. I like them a lot. 6 hours ago, Adrian said: which was really how he knew he was horribly ill. - Let me take you away from all this, Q, ugh. Poor love. 6 hours ago, Adrian said: Q felt Bond’s hand on his arm, steadying him. He nodded his thanks and sat on the arm of the sofa. - I love how Bond slips into crisis-handler mode and how obvious the change is in-text. - Q getting all dizzy and trying to make his thoughts line up, my heart. Also I think "lightheaded" may be one of my favourite words. Perhaps. A bit. - I especially love how crisis-Bond still takes a moment to keep Q steady. - I feel slightly guilty for enjoying sick-and-dizzy Q as much as I do. -That ending is beautiful. 6 hours ago, Adrian said: I got excited so now it's going to be a couple of parts. I'm not sure how many but it certainly doesn't end here. whatchoosaynow? *curls up at your feet* Truly, I am blessed this day. Link to comment
Vongola Undicesimo Posted June 2, 2016 Share Posted June 2, 2016 A mix of hot sneezy Q and plot?!?! It's enough to make my day! I'm really looking forward to the next part! Link to comment
queenie Posted June 2, 2016 Share Posted June 2, 2016 Precious! Well-written and suspenseful. I can't wait for more. Link to comment
AdrianMarx Posted June 5, 2016 Author Share Posted June 5, 2016 (edited) Okay, firstly @RiversD holy SHIT thank you for such a lovely long comment!! I've been re-reading it for days awh! Thank you thank you. I'm so glad you're enjoying it and gosh ahhhh <3 @Vongola Undicesimo I hope it doesn't disappoint! @queenie Thank you! Okay, this part is a little shorter and possibly a little wrong because I've got a fever and I feel awful and I have no idea what words are but I needed to write. - Q rested his head against the window in an attempt to cool himself down but pulled back with a soft groan when the rumbling movement of the car irritated his nose. Wrinkling his nose to stem the itch, he let his head fall back against the seat, closing his eyes against the grey rush of London past the windows. What he wouldn’t give for his own bed right now. “Q!” Bond exclaimed with an air of someone having repeated himself several times. Q gave a hum of acknowledgement to let Bond know he was listening - or at least pretending to. “If it took them minutes to find your address-” “The data was wiped from my systems but the hack wasn’t detected until I accessed it,” Q muttered slowly, trying to turn his thoughts into words Bond would understand. “If they found a way to copy from the source before they were frozen out-” he stopped, thinking. “How likely is that?” Q frowned. “Probable given how quickly they traced the signal,” he croaked, rubbing at his sore throat. “So they can still access agent addresses,” Bond sighed, taking a sharp right which made Q wish he’d bothered to put on his seatbelt. Q shut his eyes again, focused on keeping his breakfast in his stomach, when Bond slammed the breaks, making Q instinctively lock his arms against the dashboard to keep himself steady. “Good to see you’re not completely out of it,” Bond commented offhandedly, making Q wonder if that had been the sole purpose of his sudden stop. Q scowled, looking down between his arms to the floor where he noticed the gun for the first time. And not just the gun - his laptop and hard drive, silver briefcase with the tech he’d taken home to test, and...was that… “Cat food?” Q asked, hoping that saying it out loud would confirm that Bond could, indeed, see it too. He shot a confused glance at 007 who had a telltale smirk on his face. So, there was actually cat food in the car. Okay. Good. Now the questions was why the holy hell? Before Q could ask, Bond parked - abysmally - outside a row of semi-detached houses. “Where are we?” Bond smiled. “An old friend’s house.” Without another word to Q, Bond grabbed the cat food, got out of the car, and strolled up the path of number 44. Q watched in confusion as the door was opened by a young woman with deep brown skin and auburn ringlets. Q supposed she was quite pretty but, honestly, he was a little distracted by how Bond kissed her with a passion which made Q blush and look away. He didn’t look back again until Bond opened the passenger side door suddenly, making Q jump in a way which was rather undignified but he couldn’t find it in himself to care. “Come along, Q,” Bond said cheerfully, grabbing the items he’d left in the footwell and pulling the stunned Quartermaster to his feet. Before Q had quite processed the situation, he was standing in the woman’s hallway, shivering and desperately wishing he’d thought to put on some shoes or socks at the very least. Hadn’t his mother always told him to wear socks when he was ill? Well, now he was starting to understand why; one never knew when they were going to be dragged around London with a 102 degree fever and very little sense of balance. The women, who currently stood in front of him, was only slightly shorter than him. Her long nails were painted a startling shade of red Q could see her taking in his haggard appearance and would have blushed harder had it been possible. “Must forgive my dear Quartermaster, Ellen,” Bond chuckled. “He’s somewhat under the weather.” “Quartermaster?” Ellen said, raising a surprised eyebrow. “They recruit them young now, don’t they?” With that, Ellen reached for Q’s hand and practically dragged him into the living room where he was promptly sat down forcibly on the sofa. The sudden movement made him a little disorientated and for a moment there seemed to be two of her and then four of her but eventually they merged together again and he found himself looking into a concerned pair of brown eyes. She hummed softly, placing her hands first on his cheeks and then moving one to his forehead with a harsh tut. “You should be in bed,” she scolded, making Q feel very much like a child. “I was,” he said pointedly, turning to glare at Bond who huffed out a laugh. “It’s hardly my fault you let hackers into your system,” he said offhandedly. Q scowled but hadn’t a response to that. He could have told Bond that technically he hadn’t let anybody into his system; they’d bypassed his security which was not an easy feat. If they weren’t trying to hunt him down, Q might have been impressed. He could have said that, actually, his logging into his laptop to locate Bond’s target was likely the trigger the infiltrators had needed to open the floodgates. But he didn’t. He just scowled and tried to make Bond feel his frustration through sheer force of will alone. However, his force of will wasn’t particularly strong because he was rather distracted by the growing itch in his nose which was forcing his watering eyes closed without his consent. “Hhh...o-oh, sorry, I-I hh’ihh...b-bit of a co-col-hhh’heHSHHOO! Excuse m-i’YHHISHOOO! iihh...hhh’Ihh...Ishh! Ishhh! Ishoo! Hhh...TISHhew!” “God bless,” Ellen said as Bond pressed his own handkerchief into Q’s hand. Through teary eyes, Q noted the glare that Ellen shot at Bond and smiled internally. Seeing Q’s obvious disorientation, Ellen plucked his glasses from his nose and set them down on the arm of the couch, instructing him to lie down just as a ginger tabby wandered into the living room. Well, at least he knew what the car food was for. “Sleep well, Q,” Bond smirked. Q imagined himself giving Bond the middle finger over his shoulder and shut his eyes, letting the sound of their footsteps fade while he settled down to doze. He honestly couldn’t care less about who could possibly be tracking them down. He was just grateful for the chance to rest. Well, almost rest. As soon as he could rid himself of this blasted cough, of course. Through the wall, Q could hear Bond and Ellen talking but was quite uninterested in their conversation. He drifted in and out of sleep, never quite fully on either side of the fence, and had a disturbing dream which he couldn’t quite remember when Ellen shook him awake a little while later. “You’re much more handsome than my Quartermaster ever was,” she said by way of greeting, making Q blush furiously. Fortunately, Bond’s appearance saved him from having to respond. He never thought he’d be grateful to see James bloody Bond. “I’m afraid Q doesn’t swing that way, Ellen,” he laughed, settling down in an armchair. “And, if you don’t mind, we are in a middle of being hunted down.” Ellen smirked. “Didn’t used to bother you,” she said. “Oh, and by the way? If you ever kiss me like that again, I will kill you.” “I don’t doubt it.” Q, who had noticed the gun tucked into the back of Ellen’s trousers, didn’t doubt her either. Edited June 5, 2016 by Adrian Link to comment
RiversD Posted June 15, 2016 Share Posted June 15, 2016 Awright, I'm a little tired, but able to type, and this lovely little thing has waited long enough to be praised. So here goes nothing: Again, I'm loving how out-of-it Q is in this section, and how well you get that feverish, disconnected feeling across. Poor boy. On 05/06/2016 at 9:40 PM, Adrian said: Q rested his head against the window in an attempt to cool himself down but pulled back with a soft groan when the rumbling movement of the car irritated his nose. Wrinkling his nose to stem the itch, he let his head fall back against the seat, Okay, this opening section? Super attractive. Much palpitations. On 05/06/2016 at 9:40 PM, Adrian said: the grey rush of London past the windows. A++ imagery, well done there. Aw, poor thing having to make his brain work because Lives At Stake, and Bond having to force Q to function for the same reasons (even though he totally just wants Q to be able to snuggle somewhere safe, shh...). On 05/06/2016 at 9:40 PM, Adrian said: “Good to see you’re not completely out of it,” Bond commented offhandedly ... Not that Bond was worried. No, just an observation... On 05/06/2016 at 9:40 PM, Adrian said: Bond parked - abysmally - I love that you included this little detail. It both made me smile and made me feel more like the narrative was showing Q's thought processes, because of course he's still registering little niggles like that. Bond, dear, try to hold on to your libido for a little longer. Lives at stake and all that. On 05/06/2016 at 9:40 PM, Adrian said: one never knew when they were going to be dragged around London with a 102 degree fever and very little sense of balance. Oh, Q. I doubt your mother foresaw this precise situation, but... fair enough. Your life is chaos. Accept it. On 05/06/2016 at 9:40 PM, Adrian said: “Hhh...o-oh, sorry, I-I hh’ihh...b-bit of a co-col-hhh’heHSHHOO! Excuse m-i’YHHISHOOO! iihh...hhh’Ihh...Ishh! Ishhh! Ishoo! Hhh...TISHhew!” Oh, poor boy! (I'm enjoying his suffering quite a lot, though... ) On 05/06/2016 at 9:40 PM, Adrian said: He drifted in and out of sleep, never quite fully on either side of the fence, and had a disturbing dream which he couldn’t quite remember Urgh, I know that feeling far too well. On 05/06/2016 at 9:40 PM, Adrian said: Ellen smirked. “Didn’t used to bother you,” For half a second there I thought this was about "doesn't swing that way" and I was all "wait, you what?" But then my brain swung back into action and I realised all was well. *facepalm* Also, Ellen seems awesome. More of Ellen. TL:DR- still very much enjoying this, 'pologies for the long silence. Hope you're feeling ever so much better now, Adrian. xxx Link to comment
sallyhally Posted August 5, 2016 Share Posted August 5, 2016 After reading this fic on a daily basis for the last week I thought I should finally drop a comment: O.M.G Adrian I can't tell you how much I love this! I adore Ben Whishaw and his Q was (in my humble opinion) the best thing about the last two Bond movies. you capture him so well and I just lovelovelove all those little details you put in there like Q's ridiculous pyjamas or C-Sharp ❤ I'm really looking foward to what might come next! Great fic Adrian, really! Link to comment
ichixshiro14 Posted October 25, 2016 Share Posted October 25, 2016 This is incredible!! Link to comment
Shamaël Posted October 25, 2016 Share Posted October 25, 2016 12 hours ago, ichixshiro14 said: This is incredible!! My thoughts, precisely. I really hope you will update this one day, because this is great! The first part is absolutely amazing. Thanks for sharing! Link to comment
AdrianMarx Posted October 25, 2016 Author Share Posted October 25, 2016 Ahhhhh thank you guys for all the lovely comments!!! Sorry it's been a while - uni has Happened - but here is the next part. I hope you enjoy <3 - Bond practically tossed Q’s laptop into his hands, making the confused Quatermaster start. Shaking aside his bleariness (or, at least, trying to) he lifted the lid and went to type in his password. However, he’d gotten no further than the second character when the screen started to glitch, static interrupting the pale blue lock screen background. He sighed. Okay. So it was going to be one of those missions. “I need a different computer,” he said, watching Bond’s frown deepen. “Here,” Ellen said, reaching down the side of the couch and producing her own laptop. “Will this do?” Q offered her the best smile he could muster. “Thank you.” Q set about hacking into his old system while Bond looked on, making no effort to even pretend to understand what Q was doing. Goodness, he’d never made so many typos in his life. Q put it down to his hands being a little shaky and, well, everything else really. He glanced at the clock in the corner of the screen. He was due more medicine quite soon though somehow he didn’t think that was going to happen. There were more important things at stake. “Ah,” he said, frowning at his code as Bond came to sit next to him, doing the same as though it made a single lick of sense to him. Q looked over at Ellen who was also looking at him questioningly though she had the good grace to stay in her seat. “On a scale of one to ten, how attached are you to this laptop?” Ellen smiled knowingly. “Do I need to fetch the fire extinguisher?” “No, no, nothing like that,” Q said, the fever making him blatantly miss the jovial tone to her voice. “Do what you have to do,” Ellen sighed, returning to her tea. (Q noticed that Bond hadn’t touched his own cup. Probably not enough alcohol.) Q’s fingers froze over the keys and he quickly yanked them away again as his eyes forced themselves closed, breath hitching. Though of course the sneezes wouldn’t come out straight away and he found himself sitting in Ellen’s living room with the most ridiculous expression on his face, occasionally shooting apologetic glances at her through teary eyelashes. “hhHHih...hhh…” Q rubbed impatiently at his nose, hoping to force the tickle out that way or at least make it subside. “Bless you,” Bond said, once again managing to time it just as the sneeze disappeared. Q shot him a teary glare. “Fuck you,” he muttered, earning a low whistle from Bond. “Oh, Q, how could you possibly kiss your mother with a mouth like that?” Bond smirked and, for the first time in years, Q felt a little tug at his heart. In MI6, it was best not to talk about family, particularly in the double-oh division. Without exception, agents who became double-oh’s had tragic backstories and often no surviving family. For this reason, family was a rarely discussed topic. Not to mention it was a dangerous one. Family, or connections of any kind really, only served as a pressure point for enemies and the less information disclosed about personal pressure points the better, even with those you trusted the most. So, it happened that Q very rarely even thought about family. His life was his work and, since family didn’t come up in work, it didn’t really come up at all. Bond registered the minute flash of emotion across Q’s features before he clears his throat, pointedly ignoring 007 and rubbing deliberately at his nose again. “This is going to be tougher than previously anticipated,” he announced stuffily, sneaking in a quick sniffle before he went on. “Once I hack back into the system, they’ll have a lock on our location. Nothing I can do about that until I’m in.” He bit his lip and looked between Bond and Ellen who shared a look, Bond’s unreadable and Ellen’s hard. “I’m ready for them,” she said shortly. “Do you two have somewhere to go?” “We’ll find somewhere,” Bond said offhandedly, turning his gaze back to Q who nodded, taking a moment to gather his thoughts as Ellen left the room again. “Once I start the hack, I have about two and a half minutes to build and hide an opening in the code. After that, the system will lock me out.” Bond frowned. “What good is that?” “Well, 007,” Q said, exasperation clear in every intonation. “This will allow me to enter the system again undetected. However, it will completely fry this laptop so we’ll require another.” “From where?” Q raised an eyebrow. “I hear shops sell them these days,” he said dryly which earned him a quirked lip from Bond. “You’re the expert,” Bond said, his tone far too jovial given the situation. “My kingdom for a witness,” Q muttered which made Bond smile. However, 007’s gaze turned serious again in the silence that followed and he asked, “What will you do after that?” Q sighed. He didn’t want to admit it but he honestly didn’t know how to fix this situation. He could drop aeroplanes out of the sky with a single line of computer code but he was sick and feverish and quite unused to being actively hunted by assassins. If this was what being in the field was like all the time, Q was happy to stay at his desk. (But, of course, Q knew that this was what fieldwork was like. Though he had little experience, he was the one on the other end of the line when his agents fell silent to the sound of gunfire. He was the one who had to pronounce countless agents missing, presumed dead. He was the one who sat in silence in his office, the final breath of his - his - dead agent ringing in his ears. So he knew. Of course he knew.) Instead of answering properly, Q said, “Something far cleverer than you could possibly understand, Bond,” but you couldn’t trick a trickster. “You don’t know then,” Bond sighed, like that was what he’d been afraid of. It probably was. “Alright, we’ll take it a step at a time. New laptop and safehouse is step four.” Despite himself, Q’s eyebrows quirked with interest and, before he could stop himself, he’d asked, “What were steps one through three?” For a moment, Bond’s eyes changed. Instead of their usual sky blue void, Q saw an abundance of emotion there and immediately thought to himself, oh fuck. Just like the others - especially so, really - Bond was fucked up and alone in the world and Q felt the weight of that settle on his shoulders all from that one second look in Bond’s eyes. After all, as much as he often wanted to strangle him himself, Bond was his agent. And Bond was very, very sad. But the look in his eyes disappeared and he settled into a shit-eating grin instead which showed his teeth and made Q nervous. That grin tended to mean trouble - usually trouble for Q. So, before Bond could say anything, Q buried his nose in the laptop and told him to get ready. “I’m starting the hack - now. Two minutes thirty and counting,” he muttered as his fingers flew over the keys. Bond left him alone. Link to comment
Shamaël Posted October 25, 2016 Share Posted October 25, 2016 I discovered this fic today and you just update three hours after... Lucky me! I really like your fic and I'm very curious to see where you are leading us. Bond AND Q are really in character (at least, they perfectly fit my headcanon, so...). Link to comment
ichixshiro14 Posted October 26, 2016 Share Posted October 26, 2016 Wow, I can hardly stand to wait for the next update! You've definitely got a knack for suspense! Link to comment
matilda3948 Posted October 29, 2016 Share Posted October 29, 2016 I had never thought about James Bond sneeze fics before, but it is everything I never knew was missing in my life This is so great--as a sneeze fic and just as a stand-alone story. Can't wait to read more. Link to comment
Juto Posted October 29, 2016 Share Posted October 29, 2016 AWWWWW BOND WAS HIS AGENT This is sooooo sweeeet!! ((And a really good drama at the same time)) Link to comment
RiversD Posted November 23, 2016 Share Posted November 23, 2016 Hi, Adrian! I know it's been about a month since the update, but I'm rubbish at staying on top of things, so... just wanted to assure you that I am both alive and still enjoying this (perhaps more the latter than the former, to be quite/overly honest). On 25/10/2016 at 5:30 PM, AdrianMarx said: Goodness, he’d never made so many typos in his life. Q put it down to his hands being a little shaky and, well, everything else really. Poor boy. *holds him tight* I still love Ellen. On 25/10/2016 at 5:30 PM, AdrianMarx said: Q’s fingers froze over the keys and he quickly yanked them away again as his eyes forced themselves closed, breath hitching. I also like this sentence very much. The whole stuck sneeze sequence was lovely, and of course Bond takes the opportunity to tease while it's there. Bond should really know better than to make mother jokes around MI6, though. It's just asking for emotional trouble he's not equipped to deal with. Well, not with any degree of subtlety, anyway. On 25/10/2016 at 5:30 PM, AdrianMarx said: “You’re the expert,” Bond said, his tone far too jovial given the situation. “My kingdom for a witness,” Q muttered which made Bond smile. I like to think of this as Bond throwing out a 'hey, we're still cool, right?" feeler after the mother thing and Q taking it up. And then BAM, back into the uncharted waters of Emotions (for me and then). My sweet repressed babes... Thank you for this! Link to comment
AdrianMarx Posted July 19, 2017 Author Share Posted July 19, 2017 (edited) @Aliena H. @ichixshiro14 @matilda3948 @Juto @RiversD thank you guys for your lovely support for this fic!!! and sorry it's taken me so long to update. uni was absolute hell this semester and i got sucked into yuri on ice and yeah. but i hope this is worth the wait omg. i don't want to abandon this fic. i'm really loving it ^^ --- Two and a half minutes both dragged and raced by for Q. It wasn’t a lot of time to get everything done even without the persistent exhaustion making him slow but it was also a long time to have to hold his concentration with a fever boiling his brain. The room held its tension in the silence of Q’s companions as he typed and typed, eyes unblinking in the face of pressure. He was just thankful those horrible building sneezes didn’t disrupt him at what would have been an extremely inopportune moment. The timer on Ellen’s laptop let out a beep just as Q’s screen froze before turning blue - Christ how old was this thing? - and he sat back on the sofa with a sigh. “Q?” Bond’s voice sounded far away. Q shut his eyes. Just for a moment. “Q, we have to move.” Q let out a yawn. “Five more minutes,” he countered but Bond was already dragging him to his feet where he swayed unstably, barely managing to see where he was going before he was bundled back into Bond’s car (sans cat food this time). They were already on their way before Q realised that he’d forgotten his blanket. “Damn,” he cursed quietly to himself. That was his favourite blanket. If Bond heard him, he didn’t comment. Q was grateful for that because he was feeling nothing short of dreadful. His face ached with congestion and he could feel a similar pressure settling deep in his lungs. Now really wasn’t the time to be contracting pneumonia but, well, he always did have a bit of a weak chest. Generally, it wasn’t a problem in Q-Branch where he was surrounded by several loyal minions who willingly brought him an endless supply of hot lemon and honey. Q could only hope it wasn’t going to be a problem now that he was stuck in the field with James bloody Bond. As long as he didn’t have to do too much running he should be fi- Q glanced at Bond in the driver’s seat and very quickly remembered every mission Bond had ever been on. His heart sank. Yeah, running was undoubtedly going to become necessary at some point. “ishh’nkg!” Ducking his head down into his chest, Q squashed the sneeze with his palm, sending a pulse of aching pressure across his cheeks. He winced. Bond muttered a soft gesundheit and Q almost expected to be reprimanded for stifling what with the tension in Bond’s jaw. He was by no means a field agent, but Q was as observant as they came. Bond had been restless since he first arrived at Q’s flat though he’d hidden it well with banter and stoicism. But Q saw enough of Bond to know that he was acting out of sorts. It was obvious to him now - though the fever had made putting the pieces together difficult - that Bond harboured some kind of...affection for him. Bond saw him as more than a colleague, that much was obvious. If he were feeling bold, Q might go as far as to say that Bond was starting to consider him a friend. For some strange reason, that made Q smile. He’d never been one for friends before but with Bond...well, perhaps he could get used to the idea. “Right,” Bond said, startling Q from his bizarrely sentimental thoughts as he pulled into a parking space. Q blinked. “Any specifics for this laptop?” It took Q a moment to notice that they were parked outside of PC World. “Um,” he said, feeling quite unexpectedly tongue-tied. “Core i7 would be best but don’t get anything below an i5 or it’ll take me ten years to get into MI6’s server. I’ll need at least 8GB of RAM but don’t worry about storage memory because-” Q stopped, noting Bond’s confused expression with exasperation and starting to open the passenger door, swinging his legs out into the cold. “I should just come with you,” he said, suppressing a violent shiver which made him draw instinctively closer to himself. “Don’t be ridiculous, Q. You’re not even wearing shoes,” Bond scoffed and Q frowned. “Well, whose fault is that?” He countered. “Didn’t they teach you Cold Care 101 in double-oh training? Dragging someone around London without shoes is considered unadvisable.” Bond’s ever-snappy reply didn’t come as Q expected. Instead, he lowered his voice and said, “Get back in the car, Q, or you’ll get frostbite.” Stunned by his agent’s sudden change in demeanor, Q did just that. Bond’s tone had come far too close to gentle for either of their liking, judging by the way Bond cleared his throat and promptly escaped from the car without a word, leaving Q to ponder what the fuck just happened. He didn’t get much time to ponder it, however, before his nose had other ideas and his eyes were fluttering half-open half-shut in that ridiculous way that made him look dazed and confused. His chest heaved (and wheezed but Q’s attention was occupied elsewhere and so he paid it little mind), expanded. He was right on the brink but he couldn't, he couldn’t quite get there. His hand came up to hover by his nose though he didn’t remember consciously deciding to do that. And just as he felt like his lungs had reached maximum capacity, he took another gasping breath and “ehhTISHHhOO! hh’hiinGISHHOO! ehh… oh ngh… ahHh hhikyh’ITSSKHEW!” Q slapped a hand over his runny nose, wildly glancing outside to see if anybody had witnessed his embarrassment but he seemed to be in luck. Well, it was about time something went his way today. As he rifled through the glove compartment for some tissues, however, he found that his luck was extremely short lived. “And back to our regularly scheduled programming,” he muttered to himself, finally giving up on his hunt for anything to clean himself up with. Eventually, he looked at his sleeve and grimaced. Apparently he was stooping to several new lows today. With his nose mopped up as best it could be given the situation, Q settled back against the chair and sighed. He still rather desperately needed to blow his nose but he could hardly go wandering into Tesco barefoot in bright red pyjamas looking like death warmed up. But he could certainly do with a tissue. Why hadn’t he thought to tuck a space handkerchief into the pocket on the chest of his pyjamas for situations just like this one? Clearly he was going to have to update his provisions to include supplies for surviving a fugitive situation with 007 and a nasty cold. Q was abruptly awoken from his doze - when had he fallen asleep? - by 007 thundering back into the car. He instinctively clutched at his pounding head at the noise until a carrier bag landed in his arms. Curious, Q peered into the bag while Bond shoved a laptop box into the passenger footwell and started the engine. Beecham’s Cold and Flu Relief. Kleenex. Bottle of water. “What’s all this?” Q asked stupidly. Bond cleared his throat, clearly feeling just as awkward as Q did. “I was passing a corner shop. Thought it might help.” For the first time in a long time, Q found himself speechless. He muttered a breathless thanks before tearing into the tissues and giving his nose a much-needed blow. Without bothering with the medicine, he pulled up the laptop box and started setting it up on his lap. “It’ll likely need charged,” Q noted as the laptop started booting up. It was a nice laptop. Bond had done well considering his limited technical expertise. By far Bond’s best trait when it came to gadgets was his uncanny ability to destroy any equipment he was given with spectacular flair. Bond grunted. “There’s a café nearby with plugs. Two minutes.” ~ The café was small but modern with a crazy paving pattern on the stone floor; a stone floor which, unfortunately, nipped at Q’s cold toes. Any other time, he’d accuse Bond of either deliberate sabotage or poor planning but there were more important matters at hand so he instead focused his attention on making sure his agents didn’t die at his hands. (Perhaps that was somewhat dramatic but Q blamed himself and if a single one of his people ended up dead, he didn’t think he’d ever be able to live with himself and he wasn’t really feeling up to supplying Bond with a constant stream of witty banter at the moment. So he focused. Quietly.) “I’m going to contact M,” said Bond, finally ceasing his incessant fidgeting and disappearing onto the street to find a payphone. Bond had left his mobile at Ellen’s on the off-chance that Q’s hackers could trace them through it. It was a slim chance - they’d have to have an inside man at MI6 to make it even remotely feasible, really - but Bond had said he didn’t want to take chances. For once, Q had to agree. So Q kept working and sipping at a blessedly hot cup of chamomile tea. He was too congested to taste it but the heat alone made him feel a little better. His nose still itched, though, and he had to scrub impatiently at his twitching nostrils every minute or so to quell the tickle. Methodically, Q worked his way through the agents on the list, wiping their location data. Each agent he made disappear lifted a weight off his chest. He was just finishing off 009’s data removal when Bond returned, settling down in the seat opposite Q with what could only be described as an old man noise. “I spoke to your replacement,” Bond said, voice laced with distaste. “He gave me some very interesting ideas about where to shove my gun.” Q huffed a laugh. “Congratulations. You’ve managed to piss off your new Quartermaster in record time.” “He’s not the Quartermaster,” said Bond with surprising force, making Q raise his eyebrows in surprise. Before he had much time to think on Bond’s reaction, he was speaking again. “He’s not competent enough to have earned that title. You should have seen him this morning, bumbling around Q-Branch like an overinflated idiot.” “Careful, 007. You’re verging dangerously on sentimentality,” Q said with a teasing smile. Bond seemed to have a knack for bringing out Q’s trademark snark even when he felt utterly dreadful. Bond chose not to respond to that, instead folding his arms on the table and saying, “Well, Not-Q suggested I get you to a safehouse and, shockingly, I’m inclined to agree with him.” Q’s expression hardened. “No. I need to get to MI6 if I’m going to be of any use.” “You won’t be of much use to anyone if you keel over on your keyboard,” Bond retorted. “As you so kindly pointed you earlier, 007, it’s a cold. I’m hardly dying,” Q replied icily. He was in no mood to debate his level of responsibility in this whole mess but he felt a crushing weight of guilt resting on his chest coupled with an overwhelming desire to do anything to help. “MI6 is where I need to be, Bo-” “Shh,” Bond said suddenly. Q felt rage rise in his throat. “Bond, I-” “Be quiet, Q,” Bond said desperately and it was only then that Q noticed the way Bond looked like a rabbit aware it was being hunted. His eyes were trained on the wall behind Q which sported a large window and the café door. Turning in his seat, Q spotted a black car outside. A man emerged. When his suit jacket blew back as he got out of the car, Q saw that he was armed. His chest tightened. “Q,” said Bond but terror had seized the Q’s motor functions and he found himself glued to the spot. Bond grabbed his shoulder and heaved him round to face him, already pulling off his suit jacket which he wrapped around Q’s shoulders. Seeing Q’s distress, he said, “It’s alright. We’re just two people having a meal.” Instinctively, Q tried to turn around again but Bond caught his hands. His thumbs rubbed gently over Q’s knuckles. “Don’t turn round. Just look at me.” Q forced himself to look up to Bond’s eyes and was thankful to find some semblance of calm there. He tried to remember that this was Bond’s job and was definitely not an unusual situation. Q had been in his ear through situations exactly like this one but being in the middle of it is messing with his practiced cool head. “Okay, they’re moving on,” Bond said, standing and keeping his eyes trained over Q’s shoulder as he folded up the laptop. Q unplugged it and gathered it up in his arms as Bond said, “We’re going to sneak out the back. I’m sorry, Q.” Bond bit his lip as he glanced down at Q’s - still bare - feet and then back up at his red-nosed and bleary-eyes expression. “But we’re going to have to run.” Edited July 19, 2017 by AdrianMarx fkn tenses Link to comment
ichixshiro14 Posted July 20, 2017 Share Posted July 20, 2017 Woah. The previous chapters were spectacular, but this is beyond words...I'm so thankful you've updated!! You're really very talented in characterization and plot development I can't wait to read the next installment!! <3 Link to comment
Shamaël Posted July 20, 2017 Share Posted July 20, 2017 @AdrianMarx: I'm so glad you updated this fic! It's still wonderful. Coicidentally, I've just re-watched the 4 Craig-Bond in the last month and I really like your characterization. (And I love, of course, when Q is miserable...) 14 hours ago, AdrianMarx said: face ached with congestion and he could feel a similar pressure settling deep in his lungs. Now really wasn’t the time to be contracting pneumonia but, well, he always did have a bit of a weak chest. I have exactly the same headcanon and the fact that you mention it, even if Q isn't too ill for the moment, is a great bonus. 14 hours ago, AdrianMarx said: “Um,” he said, feeling quite unexpectedly tongue-tied. “Core i7 would be best but don’t get anything below an i5 or it’ll take me ten years to get into MI6’s server. I’ll need at least 8GB of RAM but don’t worry about storage memory because-” Q stopped, noting Bond’s confused expression with exasperation and starting to open the passenger door, swinging his legs out into the cold. I laughed at this, because it looks like a dialogue between my mother (Q) and me (Bond) when I need to buy tomething computer-related. 14 hours ago, AdrianMarx said: He didn’t get much time to ponder it, however, before his nose had other ideas and his eyes were fluttering half-open half-shut in that ridiculous way that made him look dazed and confused. His chest heaved (and wheezed but Q’s attention was occupied elsewhere and so he paid it little mind), expanded. He was right on the brink but he couldn't, he couldn’t quite get there. His hand came up to hover by his nose though he didn’t remember consciously deciding to do that. And just as he felt like his lungs had reached maximum capacity, he took another gasping breath and “ehhTISHHhOO! hh’hiinGISHHOO! ehh… oh ngh… ahHh hhikyh’ITSSKHEW!” Oh my God... Great description, great spellings and... well... everything. 15 hours ago, AdrianMarx said: “You won’t be of much use to anyone if you keel over on your keyboard,” Bond retorted. “As you so kindly pointed you earlier, 007, it’s a cold. I’m hardly dying,” Q replied icily. The 2 lines I preferred, because the roles are reversed and Bond's concern is adorable (and Q's stuborness is adorable too). Thank you for this update! I'm eager to read the next part. Link to comment
AdrianMarx Posted July 25, 2017 Author Share Posted July 25, 2017 (edited) omg guys thank you for such lovely comments!! they spur me on. apparently very well because here is part 5 here we go!! - Q was afraid - terrified, really. The back of the café led onto an estate with skyrise flats. It reminded Q of where he’d grown up but he didn’t get much time for reminiscing because Bond grabbed his free hand and pulled him along behind as he broke into a run. Q’s chest burned with the exertion and he let out a rattling cough towards the ground but, even though Bond slowed down a little and looked back with concern, Q pushed himself on. He was not going to die today; not when his agents might still be in danger. Well, Bond was always in danger somehow. Even intelligence-gathering missions ended in a shootout with him. Q was surprised he didn’t have more grey hairs, really. Running barefoot was excruciating and Q let out a shriek of pain as he stepped on a particularly jagged rock, making a gash in the sole of his foot. “Bastard!” Bond drew to a halt. “What...are you...doing?” Q puffed, one hand on his wheezing chest as he fought for breath, grateful for the respite despite the pounding fear. Bond’s jacket was draped over his arm now since it had been falling off during their run. Bond swiftly ripped the arm off. “Bond?” Q gasped, shocked. “Sit down, Q,” Bond said roughly and Q plonked himself down on the nearest wall. Bond immediately set about pulling out the inside lining of the sleeve. Upon realising Bond’s plan, Q said hurriedly, “007, I really don’t think this is the time for you to play nurse.” Bond scowled up at Q as he started tightly binding his injured foot. “Call me cautious but I’d rather you didn’t get an infection and running around with an open wound where we’re going makes that highly likely.” Q didn’t get a chance to ask exactly where that was before Bond tied the lining tight over Q’s wound, making him wince. Bond grunted out an apology and tied another knot before pulling Q to his feet and they were off running again, this time keeping a close eye on the ground for anything else that might cause injury. Though Q had gone through the mandatory MI6 fitness tests - which were admittedly a lot more lenient than the double-oh program requirements - he was finding it extremely difficult to keep up with Bond. His body screamed at him to just stop but his terror and maybe a little bit of adrenaline spurred him on. He’d never live it down if he admitted it to Bond but he was starting to understand the thrill of risk-taking. And not the usual type of risks Q took with hacking into classified servers. No, this - this was something else. And Q liked it. Of course, he’d probably like it more if he could bloody breathe. “Oyster?” Bond asked as they came to an abrupt stop. Q could only blink at him. Bond rolled his eyes. “Oyster card. Do you have it on you?” Q shot him a weary look. “Yes, 007. I always keep my Oyster card in my pyjama pocket in case of near-death situations.” He meant for it to be scathing but some of the effect was lost by his breathlessness and the two kittenish sneezes which followed right after. isstch! hng’iTschh! “Never mind. I’ve got a spare,” Bond said, pulling him into Leicester Square station and through the ticket barriers. “And gesundheit.” Q wiped his nose on his sleeve for the second time that day, feeling disgusted with himself and quite self-conscious of the fact that he was still in his kitten pyjamas. But at least they were in the tube station now. They could get the Northern Line down to Stockwell and then the Victoria to Vauxhall (and MI6). The idea of sitting - even on the tube - sounded like heaven to Q’s aching limbs. When Bond pulled him towards the Piccadilly Line, however, Q had to pause. Well, he supposed to Piccadilly would take them to Green Park and then they could get the Victoria to Vauxhall. Right? (Wrong, apparently.) They were off the train again at Piccadilly Circus and Q was being dragged along to wait for the Bakerloo Line to take them even further north and even further away from MI6. “Is there anything else you need to do on that laptop?” Bond asked as they took a seat on an empty bench. Q looked down at his lap where his trembling hands held said laptop against his thighs. He shivered, suddenly remembering exactly why they were running and had it really only been this morning that he’d been curled up with his cat watching Pride and Prejudice? It felt like an eternity. He felt sick. “Q?” Bond said, one hand on Q’s back and the other taking the laptop from him. He forced Q’s head between his knees. “Deep breaths. Try not to hack up a lung.” Q might have laughed had he not been so busy fighting the panicked nausea swirling in his stomach. Instead, he just focused on breathing without aggravating his poor chest. His nose dripped in this position and he jammed one hand under it to keep it from leaking onto the platform. He stared down at his feet, both bare and one covered in a bloody makeshift bandage. Tears welled in his eyes; he was a wreck and there were armed people after them and he was pretty sure his fever had spiked given how upset he suddenly found himself. The rumbling of the tracks signalled the train’s arrival. Bond crouched in front of him and gently lifted Q’s head. “Don’t break down yet, okay?” He said with a voice that was soft but firm. “Once we’re somewhere safe, you can fall apart but right now I need us both to have our wits about us.” Bond took his hand and Q wondered how they were so steady. He supposed they had to be. Bond had to be able to shoot people at any time. Right now, however, his steady hand was an asset in a different way as a comfort to the panicked Quartermaster. As Bond led them onto the train, Q took a final deep breath and sat down. Bond took his usual seat across from him. Q wished briefly that Bond would sit next to him so he wouldn’t have to let go of his hand but he pushed that thought aside. They needed to be able to see everything. This made more sense. Q felt another sneeze building and pinched his nose shut, stifling it silently. And then another. And another. “Bugger,” he muttered, sniffling thickly. At Bond’s questioning look, he said, “I left the bag at the café.” Bond sighed. “Did you at least take some medicine?” Thinking back, Q honestly couldn’t remember. As his energy failed him, he offered Bond a mere shrug and shut his eyes. “Don’t fall asleep on me,” Bond warned quietly. “Piss off,” Q muttered which made Bond chuckle. Not two minutes later, Q was pulled to his feet again and they were making their way along the platform at Oxford Circus (why did London have so many bloody circuses?) only to be dragged...right back on the train again. “What-” He began but Bond cut him off. “False change,” Bond muttered, his voice sounding that way it did when he was focused. “Throw them off the scent.” Q nodded. Of course. He’d suggested agents do exactly this when being traced. He knew exactly what a false change was so why was he acting like one of Bond’s confused flings? Too exhausted to contemplate this, he slumped down on the nearest seat and shut his eyes. After a moment, he felt Bond’s hand pressed against his cheek. “Your fever’s gone up,” he noted. Q grunted in response. “Have you done everything you need to do with this laptop?” “Yeah,” Q breathed. Bond still hadn’t removed his hand. It felt good. “We’ll leave it here. It’s got to be how they tracked us.” “M’kay.” Bond took his seat next to Q this time and Q was frankly feeling too atrocious to question it. When his head fell sleepily onto Bond’s shoulder, he didn’t question Bond’s apparent indifference to the situation either. What felt like seconds later they were off the train again and back on the same line in the other direction and then they were back at Oxford bloody Circus. Q was allowing himself to be dragged through the station with his legs feeling like jelly when Bond suddenly jerked to the side and Q found his arm nearly dislocated as he was dragged into a service corridor. Bond put a finger over his lips and peered through the grate. Q watched with him as the same suited men he’d seen outside the café came to a stop. In an absolutely typical show of terrible timing, Q felt his breath start to hitch. Despite Bond putting his finger to his lips, Q couldn’t contain the soft hitching breaths nor the growing itch in his nose. The suits were talking in the corridor and Q wished they would just move on already as he jammed a finger under his nose and pressed hard. “Q,” Bond whispered desperately. “Not now.” Q shot him a watery glare. He was perfectly aware that sneezing now would be nothing short of a disaster, thank you very much, 007. He supposed he could try to stifle silently like he’d done before but he didn’t think it was worth the risk. Stifling was an imperfect art; better to hold it back. His lungs clenched at the pressure put on them, breath itching in and out. As if a building sneeze wasn’t enough, each desperate breath made him feel like a hacking cough was just on the horizon. He let out an involuntary ahh and squeezed his eyes shut, rubbing harshly at his cherry-red nose and up into the corners of his eyes. Holding it back was proving difficult. He could barely breathe without the tickle growing stronger. He could feel his nose running and went to press his sleeve over it for the third time like some kind of heathen when Bond pressed a handkerchief over his face. He offered a look of solidarity as Q took it from him. “They’re going. Just a little long-” But Q couldn’t hold on anymore. He toppled forwards into Bond’s handkerchief with a near-silent stifle but his nose wasn’t finished with him. One more stifle had his head pounding and then- hhnYISHk! eng’ISHHOOh! hhiHZZHSHEW! “Gesun-” “N-not...done…” hh...hhEHYSHHOO! ngh Bond waited a moment this time before offering his gesundheit. Q blew his nose and let out a throaty, congested sigh. When he opened his watery eyes, he caught what might be described as a smile on Bond’s face but then he blinked and it was abruptly gone. “Come on,” Bond said, grabbing Q’s hand again and dragging them onto the Victoria Line. Q stuffed the handkerchief into his chest pocket. Somehow, he didn’t think Bond would want it back; at least not until it had been washed. Q coughed quietly into Bond’s shoulder and again didn’t ask why he’d chosen to sit beside him for the second time when facing each other would have made more sense. His nose still itched but it had settled to a dull roar which was much more manageable. “What’d you do w’the laptop?” He mumbled and the question earned Bond’s hand on his burning forehead. “I told you. I left it on the last train,” Bond said. “It’s on its way to Wembley.” Q nodded. “Good thinking, 007. Maybe you don’t need me after all.” He meant for it to sound light-hearted but, with his throat torn up from coughing, it came out more pitiful. Bond didn’t say anything but the way his arm wound round Q’s body and pulled him close said enough. On a better day, Q might have pulled back, might have snarked and grumbled and told Bond exactly where he could shove his pity - but he didn’t. Truth be told, Q craved this comfort right now and he wasn’t stupid enough to refuse it. His nose was running again. Q ignored it. “We’re getting off in just a second, Q,” Bond whispered against Q’s hair. Q shifted, confused. “Vauxhall already?” “We’re not going to HQ, yet,” Bond said, making Q sit up and give himself an awful headrush. He took his glasses off and rubbed his temples. “I...I’ve got a bad feeling.” Q frowned. He’d known Bond long enough to know how good his instincts were. After short scrutiny of his face, he nodded. Bond led him off the train at the next station and onto the District Line where they travelled to- “Temple,” Q noted obviously as he stepped onto the platform, feeling the cold of the concrete platform numbing his toes. When they finally got back to HQ, he planned to wear at least four pairs of socks for the rest of the day. Temple tube station - where Bond had chased after Silva following his escape. Q remembered it well. Put your back into it. Why don’t you come down here and put your back into it. Q smiled fondly at the memory. But his smile quickly became a groaning frown as Bond led him into the service corridor and revealed what he’d just remembered came next - stairs. A lot of stairs. With Bond right behind him, Q started up the stairs on wobbling legs. He just needed to sit down. Just needed to sit down. Please just let me sit down. Climbing the ladders was painful on his feet, especially the injured one, but finally, wheezing and sweaty and with a dizzyingly high fever, Q finally let Bond gently push him up the last few steps and into the underground base they’d used following the explosion at Vauxhall Cross. Finally, Q’s legs gave out on him and he sat down heavily against the nearest wall, instinctively curling into himself against the bitter chill of the place. Just five minutes, he thought and shut his eyes. Just five minutes. Edited July 26, 2017 by AdrianMarx Link to comment
matilda3948 Posted July 26, 2017 Share Posted July 26, 2017 Goodness! This is wonderful! I love Bond being like "You can come unhinged later but not now." This is great. Thank you for continuing it. Might try my hand at this fandom soon. Link to comment
Leafeon78 Posted July 26, 2017 Share Posted July 26, 2017 Wonderfully written thanks for sharing. Link to comment
Shamaël Posted July 26, 2017 Share Posted July 26, 2017 That was a quick (and great) update! Thank you!!! Poor Q, you're giving him a hard time... 13 hours ago, AdrianMarx said: Q might have laughed had he not been so busy fighting the panicked nausea swirling in his stomach. Instead, he just focused on breathing without aggravating his poor chest. His nose dripped in this position and he jammed one hand under it to keep it from leaking onto the platform. He stared down at his feet, both bare and one covered in a bloody makeshift bandage. Tears welled in his eyes; he was a wreck and there were armed people after them and he was pretty sure his fever had spiked given how upset he suddenly found himself. ... Yes, definitely. I love it, please don't stop! The "we need to be discrete and therefore not to sneeze" scene was a bliss. (I'm not sure I can really say that in English, but you see what I mean.) I've read it 5 times and I'm not tired of it. You're doing an amazingly good work in this fandom! Link to comment
AdrianMarx Posted July 29, 2017 Author Share Posted July 29, 2017 On 7/26/2017 at 2:44 AM, matilda3948 said: Might try my hand at this fandom soon. hey what's that sound oh look i have died of excitement and @Aliena H. giving Q a hard time is far too much fun tbh so pls enjoy...yet more of that - While Q dozed restlessly, he had fleeting snippets of dreams involving guns and monsters and 007. He tried not to examine the significance of James Bond saving him from ankle-grabbing tentacle monsters in too much detail, especially considering he was technically the damsel in distress in that particular scenario. When he woke up, it was to the man himself securing a bandage around his injured foot, a small first aid kit open at his side with its guts scattered haphazardly around Bond’s knees. (Bond’s shirt had a small rip on the right side of the chest just below his collarbone and Q had to try very hard not to look at it.) “You must be really out of it,” Bond noted when he saw Q’s eyes were on him. “You didn’t even flinch when I used the alcohol.” Q wriggled his toes experimentally, feeling the bandage shifting against his skin. Bond had done a good job but, then again, he was something of a practiced expert in field first aid so perhaps it wasn’t so surprising. “Thank you, 007,” said Q with all the formality he could muster. Bond’s smile was soft. For a moment, Q found it all to easy to forget that they were currently hiding out at the old MI6 emergency base to avoid being captured and...killed? Q hadn’t given it much thought. He wasn’t entirely sure what the hackers wanted with them, exactly. They had their data - or so they thought - so what possible reason could they have for this bizarre pursuit? Q was well and truly baffled; a rare occurrence in and of itself. “Have to get you some shoes,” Bond muttered, breaking the companionable silence with a concerned glance at Q’s bare and battered feet. “I should have thought of it sooner and then you wouldn’t have had to run through the tube like that. You’ll be lucky if you don’t get an infection.” Q tried to smile. “I’m up to date on my vaccinations, I assure you.” Perhaps as some sort of show of solidarity, Bond chuckled amiably and patted Q’s knee. By now, his pyjamas were dirtier than pyjamas ought to be with dirty marks on the knees and a general discolouration around the ankles. They weren’t exactly built for outdoor use. Glancing around, Q noticed that the base looked very different than it had during their time there. The desks were bare and several were missing. A few stray wires lay scattered across tables and on the floor (Q would have to see about reprimanding whichever of his minions were careless enough to leave them behind) and the room was shrouded in darkness. When he looked up at the ceiling, Q realised that was because only the light on the far side of the room had a working bulb. Typical of MI6, really. Typical of the British government, in all honesty. Q sighed, a wet, heaving sound that crackled on its way out. He winced immediately at the sound of the obvious thick congestion clogging his poor chest. As he gave his chest a soft rub with the palm of his hand, he caught Bond’s eye. “Don’t suppose they left the kettle behind, did they?” He asked hopefully. Bond grinned and sauntered off to the little kitchenette just through one of the doors. “You’re in luck,” Bond’s voice called, muffled by the walls. He reappeared in the doorway, waving a white plastic kettle which Q suspected was from Argos. Still, if it could heat water, Q didn’t particularly care. Minutes later, Bond placed a steaming cup into Q’s hands and his chilled fingers sang with the warmth as they curled around the curves. The cup was one of those cups that Q absolutely loathed; it was a cup sporting an inspirational quote in curled lettering which changed colour on a gradient. Reach for the stars. If he’d managed to eat anything since yesterday afternoon, Q might have vomited. No doubt this had once belonged to R who was nuts about things like this. Wistfully, Q thought of Q-Branch, his branch, and the minions who even now were working there tirelessly to keep the country safe. Q had a deep affection for his subordinates, especially the clever ones (like R), and would defend any one of them against whatever threat stood in their path. He took a sip of his tea. “Christ,” he sputtered, quickly swallowing the offensive substance Bond had had the nerve to present to him and call tea. “What the hell is this?” Bond’s face sported a look of self-satisfied mirth. “No Earl Grey, I’m afraid. You’ll have to make do with the cranberry and raspberry stuff I found in the cupboard.” Q grimaced, shooting a withering scowl in Bond’s direction as he took another sip, this time more prepared for the sickly sweet flavour to his his tongue. It wasn’t what he’d been hoping for but he knew that beggars could not be choosers and right now, on the run with a cold and a smarmy double-oh, Q would definitely classify himself as a beggar. “Bond, I’m reassigning you,” he muttered grumpily as he swallowed another mouthful. “This is an affront to Queen and Country and it needs to stop.” While Bond smiled back at him, Q let the steam clear his sinuses. It made his nose run but thankfully it didn’t trigger those horrid itchy sneezes he’d spent most of the morning cursing. There was only so much the steam produced Q’s small cup of tea could do in the face of his aggressive congestion but even the slight relief it granted him from this gruesome headache was welcome. He still felt like there was an entire orchestra in there playing in dissonance, the pressure of the noise making his temples pulse and swell in an effort to contain it, but in the absence of painkiller this would have to do. “I believe this particular brand is manufactured in the US,” said Bond offhandedly and Q grimaced. “Even worse,” he muttered and thankfully Bond didn’t comment on the fact that he finished the entire cup anyway. With the comfortable heat of the tea in his stomach and its residual warmth settling nicely in his chest, Q was starting to feel somewhat better. The breakdown Bond had suggested he save for later didn’t appear to be making a comeback. That was something, he supposed. Handling mental health issues didn’t feature nearly as prominently on MI6’s extensive list of required training for field agents as Q thought it ought to, given their penchant for dragging innocent and frightened civilians into the mix with them. Bond, of course, was particularly guilty of this; he couldn’t resist a pretty face. The improvement was short lived, however, as Q suddenly found himself shrinking into himself with another wet, rumbling cough. Before he could curl up in a pathetic ball, Bond’s hands were on his shoulders. Bond moved to sit beside him and curled one arm around his waist to keep him upright. Q could only rub uselessly at his chest while Bond did the same to his back, waiting for it to pass. “You need a doctor,” Bond stated plainly while Q’s lungs tried to clear themselves to no avail. He could barely breathe and Bond’s hand on his back was a welcome comfort. “We need to get you to MI6. You sound like you’ve got the Thames in your lungs.” When his chest finally stopped spasming, Q gave a hum of agreement. “Not to alarm you, but I fear I might be developing a chest infection,” he said nonchalantly. He didn’t want to put Bond on even higher alert by suggesting that it might - might - be the very early stages of pneumonia. He’d developed it as a complication twice before and it had certainly felt a lot like this. However, both times he'd been suffering from a nasty bout of influenza which had kept him weakly confined to his bed so perhaps this was merely the earlier anxiety making an unwelcome comeback. The Thames comparison was rather accurate given how little space Q felt had been reserved for air in his crackling, wheezing chest. Really, it was getting to the point where Q could be attacked by a savage rhino and think well, this might as well happen. Though a potential chest infection was hardly worrying him as much as trying to lose their pursuers. Besides, he’d still been able to run even if the experience had left him terribly breathless. Even if it did turn out to be something a little more serious- well, they could deal with it later. Apparently, Bond didn’t agree with Q’s order of priorities. “It’ll be no good outsmarting them if you die of dysentery before we can get you somewhere safe,” he grumbled and something about the way he said ‘we’ made Q’s thick chest feel just a little lighter. “This isn’t the Oregon Trail, Bond. I don’t think dysentery is a typical complication of the common cold,” Q quipped. Bond grunted. “It’d be much easier if I could take you to a safehouse.” (Q chose not to point out that Bond had insisted they head for MI6 not moments before.) “I can do much more good from HQ,” said Q instead with an absent wave of his hand. “Maybe,” Bond conceded. “But I’m sure your immune system would appreciate some help. Rest might not be a bad idea.” Q could feel his headache returning. “Bond, I know you mean well, but my agents are in danger because of me,” he said with steel in his tone. “If I can be doing something useful, I can’t justify resting.” Bond muttered something that Q couldn’t hear but he didn’t ask Bond to repeat himself. After a beat of silence, Q added, “We should get going.” Bond shook his head. “Another half hour. Then we’ll go.” He ignored the look Q was giving him (which was incredibly vexing) and continued, “Call it instinct but I’d rather wait a bit longer. Besides, you’re dead on your feet and you’ll be a liability if you can’t even stand.” Q wanted to protest because he was certain that Bond’s reasons for staying had much more to do with Q’s health than they should have done considering how many agents were currently in danger. But he had to concede that last point. He needed a clear head or he’d end up getting them both caught. Reluctantly and with all the grace of a downed elephant, Q slumped over on the floor again with Bond’s one-armed suit jacket draped over him. It didn’t do much to stem his brutal shivers but it was a nice gesture nonetheless. It smelled of Bond - all cologne and alcohol and charm. Q couldn’t help but find the familiar smell comforting. Of all the people he could be stuck with in this situation, Bond would definitely have been his first choice. Quite aside from the fact that he was a trained spy with a licence to kill and a poorly-hidden protective streak when it came to his Quartermaster, he was also Q’s favourite double-oh to go toe-to-toe with in a war of wits. Bond could give as good as he got and Q could well appreciate a sharp tongue and a quick mind. “Stop thinking so loud, Q, or they’ll find us in a heartbeat,” Bond teased. Never mind. Q would much rather be stuck here with anybody else. He made a half-arsed attempt to flip Bond off and let his mind wander. He tried to think of his meditation CDs with their soft ocean waves and creaking forests. Bond would probably tease him about it if he knew but Q would be quick to tell him that 00-bloody-7 was 90% of the reason he needed them in the first place. Listen to him, having arguments with James Bond in his own bloody head. Half an hour passed but it was closer to forty-five minutes before Bond roused him, helping him to his feet and helping Q slip his arms (well...arm) into Bond’s jacket in a way which was almost motherly. Bond’s poorly containing smirk at the sight of Q’s pyjama-clad arm sticking out of the hole where the right arm should be, however, was distinctly reminiscent of a teasing older brother. Q shot him a withering scowl. “Not one word, 007.” For once in his life, James Bond said nothing. Link to comment
Shamaël Posted July 30, 2017 Share Posted July 30, 2017 I really like your sense of humour. This part was really funny to read, and at the same time I just melted because Q and Bond's interaction is perfect. On 29/07/2017 at 5:13 PM, AdrianMarx said: The improvement was short lived, however, as Q suddenly found himself shrinking into himself with another wet, rumbling cough. Before he could curl up in a pathetic ball, Bond’s hands were on his shoulders. Bond moved to sit beside him and curled one arm around his waist to keep him upright. Q could only rub uselessly at his chest while Bond did the same to his back, waiting for it to pass. “You need a doctor,” Bond stated plainly while Q’s lungs tried to clear themselves to no avail. He could barely breathe and Bond’s hand on his back was a welcome comfort. “We need to get you to MI6. You sound like you’ve got the Thames in your lungs.” When his chest finally stopped spasming, Q gave a hum of agreement. “Not to alarm you, but I fear I might be developing a chest infection,” he said nonchalantly. He didn’t want to put Bond on even higher alert by suggesting that it might - might - be the very early stages of pneumonia. He’d developed it as a complication twice before and it had certainly felt a lot like this. Oh. I mean... That was fantastic. On 29/07/2017 at 5:13 PM, AdrianMarx said: It smelled of Bond - all cologne and alcohol and charm. I loved that specific sentence, I don't know why. Thank you so much for updating so quickly! Link to comment
IveGotRedHair Posted July 30, 2017 Share Posted July 30, 2017 I love this story, I love these characters, I love you for writing it ❤️ Link to comment
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