Causing Chaos in Pyjamas - James Bond/007 (Q) [COMPLETE]

[matilda3948]

On 7/29/2017 at 11:13 AM, AdrianMarx said:

On 7/25/2017 at 9:44 PM, matilda3948 said:

Might try my hand at this fandom soon.

hey what's that sound oh look i have died of excitement

^^  Okay, that was the push I needed. I'm going to post something tonight.

I loved this last section. The competing need to keep moving and the need to slow down for Q to rest is really well balanced. Excellent!!

[sallyhally]

I logged onto the forum after what seems like forever to revisit this jem of a fic (who am I kidding, it's my favourite) and what did I see??? FOUR NEW PARTS???? You can't imagine how over the moon I am. It's so well written and in character I can absolutely picture every scene! Adrian, you're a genius

[Elyze]

This is so good! All the excitement and humor that is so typical of 007. I love it! Poor Q though. He's having a terrible day... But it makes for an amazing read!!

[Elyze]

I can't get this story out of my head. It has really sucked me in. Confession time: While I've seen probably every Bond movie made up until (and including) the ones with Pierce Brosnan, I've only actually seen one of the Daniel Craig movies so I'm not really familiar with this Q. This because hubby is completely not interested in Bond, he seriously doesn't even know who Bond is (!) even though I've explained several times. But after reading your story (more than once) I've been watching clips on YouTube of this young Q and I think he has a new fan. I may just have to watch these movies anyway, asap!  So, again... GREAT WRITING!

[Kaze Wo Hiku]

This. Is. Adorable. 

Your writing is always fabulous but unf Q is so freaking cute. I'm glad you started writing it again (and got matilda to write as well )

[RiversD]

Right! It has been altogether too long since I praised this fic, and that is unacceptable.

Hi Adrian. You're wonderful. Just thought I'd mention that at the start.

I've decided to keep chapter-by chapter reviewing even though there are a few parts up now that i haven't got to. That way if my brain energy dies before I can get to all of them, a start has been made.

Onwards! So, kicking off with the part that begins:

On 7/19/2017 at 11:57 PM, AdrianMarx said:

Two and a half minutes both dragged and raced by for Q.

- Oh, the poor man. Having to concentrate through the fever, then not even being allowed to rest afterwards... I just want to pick him out of the story and give him a hug.

On 7/19/2017 at 11:57 PM, AdrianMarx said:

His face ached with congestion and he could feel a similar pressure settling deep in his lungs

#relatable, much? Seriously though, you are excellent  at creating a sense-picture that tells me exactly  how a character is feeling.

And Q's weak chest is now my forever-headcanon, just so you know. Ugh, he's having such a bad day (I feel for him, but also...don't stop just yet...)

On 7/19/2017 at 11:57 PM, AdrianMarx said:

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.

...yeahhh. You're doomed, Q. Best to accept the inevitability of physical exertion now.

-awhhh, Bond's getting worried. As he should be. Look after your Quartermaster, 007, or we shall have words.

On 7/19/2017 at 11:57 PM, AdrianMarx said:

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.”

Oohh, that turnaround from Q trying to be cool and keep up the banter to Bond's ultra-seriousness got me right between the ribs. Good section, gave me feelings.

Also that buildup. niice.

Bond's such an aggressive carer. But he bought Q tissues, so I forgive him.

Aww, Q. Too much responsibility, too much guilt. In this state, the man should be back in his blanket fort with nothing to worry about but his cat.

On 7/19/2017 at 11:57 PM, AdrianMarx said:

“I spoke to your replacement,” Bond said, voice laced with distaste. “He gave me some very interesting ideas about where to shove my gun.”

I just bet he did. And awwwh and Bond being all defensive over there only being one proper Quartermaster. You've gotten attached,  007...

On 7/19/2017 at 11:57 PM, AdrianMarx said:

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.”

Yeah, you better be sorry. Sigh... it was inevitable, of course, but still... poor boy.

This was lovely lovely lovely. I shall return to flail over the other parts... at some point. Soon, I hope. Stay you, babe.

[Juto]

Oh my gosh Adrian this is such a wonderfully cruel and delightfully evil scenario for poor Q and his double-oh-sitter  I absolutely love this story!!! 

I remember fighting hard not to burst from happiness when you told me you were starting a 00Q fic and it's been way too long since I sang it's praise so here you are  <33 .

I've read and reread the entire thing. You know how much I adore your writing style and descriptions and this was no exception. I love the vivid images you create and the way you weave plot and humour and wonderful characters together In a way that has me pleading for more. 

[AngelEyes]

So I had never seen any James Bond films. I read this story because I adore your writing whatever the fandom. I now give you credit for having stolen most of my week binge watching James Bond movies. Because this story was amazing. And now that I've seen the movies, the story is even more amazing! So, kudos!

[AdrianMarx]

@Aliena H. @IveGotRedHair @matilda3948 @sallyhally @helyzelle @Kaze wo Hiku @RiversD @Juto @AngelEyes

THANK YOU FRIENDS FOR YOUR VERY LOVELY COMMENTS!!! It's not an exaggeration to say that I read them almost every day. It's been a rough few months for me but I finally finished the next part! I've had most of this written since I updated last time but I couldn't find the motivation to finish it. But here you go! I hope you like it <3 (Sorry I couldn't reply to each of you individually. I think I used up all my energy on the writing. But pls know I appreciate you all!!)

-

Q had been expecting another painfully long jaunt through the underground system but mercifully Bond ran to the edge of the pavement, one hand in the air, and yelled, “Taxi!”

The inside of the cab was wonderfully warm and Q huddled into himself in the hopes of preserving as much heat as possible. The sudden temperature change made his nose run something awful so the borrowed handkerchief was near permanently attached to his face but Q was happy to suffer a little in that regard if it meant he might be able to stop shivering.

“Vauxhall Cross,” Bond said curtly and the cab driver’s eyes raked over Q’s haggard appearance.

“Rough day?” He asked faintly.

“Quite,” said Bond.

The cab driver stopped trying to strike up conversation after a mere glance at Bond’s harsh glare and Q was grateful for the peace. It lulled him into such a wonderful sense of calm and security that he let his head fall onto Bond’s shoulder, eyes drooping shut. The surprise he felt when Bond’s arm wound round his waist was completely overruled by his exhaustion. He dozed, snuffling quietly all the way there.

“Q,” Bond’s voice broke through Q’s hazy half-dreams.

Opening his eyes, Q was momentarily panicked because he couldn’t see a damn thing but Bond was soon offering his glasses which looked strange in his weather-worn hand. Usually, he held a gun there; it was almost incongruent to see him holding something as fragile as a pair of glasses.

“You took m’glasses?” Q asked stupidly, ducking into the handkerchief to let out a single barking cough.

Bond patted his back and tugged the door open. “You looked uncomfortable.”

Q nodded. Though the first time Q had registered Bond’s apparent interest in his health was that morning, he was all too quickly getting used to having someone look out for him in little ways like that. Well, and big ways; Bond was currently helping him escape hunters which Q would definitely classify as Big Way.

By the time Bond had helped him out of the taxi, Q had regained some of his wits about him. Despite all the napping he’d been doing recently, he felt dead on his feet. A bath and his own bed sounded like just the ticket but he supposed the couch in his Q-Branch office would do in a pinch.

Q shook his head to clear it. There were more important things at stake than a healthy sleep schedule, damn it. His people were in danger. M needed to be briefed and Q should really double check the active mission logs for anything which might suggest one of his agents was now a target. He should also get on comms with 005 to make sure the Serbia retrieval was on track and there was a mountain of paperwork he’d been meaning to get to stacked on his desk.

Resigned, Q let out a throaty sigh as Bond dragged him through security. Without his ID, Q had worried he’d have trouble making it into the building but Bond’s double-oh status meant he was entitled to do pretty much anything to ensure a positive mission outcome; getting unidentified Quartermasters past the poor sods on the security desk was hardly a colossal challenge.

It took Q a moment to realise that he was not, in fact, being led down to Q-Branch but past the lifts and along to-

“007,” Q said sharply, yanking his arm out of Bond’s grip with strength that surprised even himself. If Bond was surprised, his face betrayed nothing. “I’m needed in Q-Branch.”

Bond quirked an infuriating smile. “You’re really not. In case you’ve forgotten in all the excitement, you’ve got the day off. Sick day,” Bond clarified needlessly, tapping Q’s sore chest with his index finger. “Remember?” He asked cheekily.

“That was before a security breach put lives in jeopardy,” Q huffed, flouncing off towards the nearest staircase. Well, he tried to flounce but it became more of a trudge within a few steps and moments later Bond was redirecting him to the lifts.

“If I can’t convince you to go to Medical, at least save your breath on the stairs,” he reasoned.

On another day, Q might have taken the stairs out of sheer spite but apparently spite wasn’t a good enough motivator when his lungs felt like they were full of wet cement. Reluctantly, Q let Bond steer him into the nearest lift.

The moment the doors opened, revealing the bustling Q-Branch ahead, Q began to regret his decision.

Fuck, he thought. Fucking cat pyjamas.

R saw him first but it didn’t take long for the other minions to spot him. The chatter finally petered out and Q was left shuffling awkwardly, suddenly very aware of his ramshackle appearance.

“Sir?” R breathed, shocked as she stepped forward, her usual wariness of James Bond apparently overruled by her concern for her boss. Her shocked professionalism quickly dissolved into something else after she gave Q the once over. “Q, love, what are you doing here?”

Q felt Bond stiffen next to him but didn’t pay much attention. He was too bloody tired to analyse the ins and outs of Bond’s psychology right now.

He cleared his throat awkwardly. He wished everybody would stop staring. R seemed to notice too because she turned sharply on her heel and the minions were pointedly avoiding eye contact within moments. If nothing else, Q was glad to know that his minions were in good hands; he still wasn’t comfortable with this concept of a temporary Q running the place, especially since he hadn’t met the man. Of course, Olivia Mansfield’s recommendation put Q at ease somewhat but he’d still have preferred being able to brief the new Q on how they did things.

(Thinking of this stranger as Q, thinking of his minions, his agents, addressing him as such made Q feel a little wobbly. He wasn’t normally this insecure but he felt undeniably hurt by the thought nonetheless.)

The compact headset Q usually wore was attached round R’s right ear which gave him pause.

“You’re co-ordinating?” He asked with a frown.

R rolled her eyes. “Your replacement leaves much to be desired. Do me a favour and don’t get sick again for the foreseeable future?”

Q felt a smile tug at his lips. “I’ll do my best.”

“Speaking of which, you should sit down,” R said suddenly, swiftly grabbing Q’s hand and dragging him through the branch in the direction of his office with Bond following closely behind. “I assume if you’re here it must be something important though I would have pegged you as the type to get dressed before coming to work. Lord, Q, did you take a wander round London on your way here?”

Bond frowned. “M didn’t brief you?”

R’s brow furrowed, concern flashing in her face. She was hardly trained in observation to the same standard as the agents but she was clever. Ushering Bond and Q inside, she shut the door to Q’s glass office and pressed the button to turn the walls opaque. Q wasted no time settling himself on the couch since his legs felt like they might give way any minute.

“What happened?” R asked solemnly, eyes raking over Q’s miserable, shivering form. “Oh shit you actually have been all over London today, haven’t you? Were you followed? Who were they?”

Q could see R’s brain whirring at one hundred miles per hour but he could scarcely draw breath to get a word in edgeways.

“What…” She frowned and looked at Bond as though she’d just registered him. “007, what are you doing here?”

Bond raised an eyebrow. “I happened to be visiting Q when we experienced an urgent need to relocate.”

“Visiting?” R said skeptically.

“I needed his help with something,” Bond amended.

R scowled. “He’s off sick. I distinctly remember M saying he wasn’t to be disturbed.”

“Thank you, R, but I was happy for the distraction,” Q sighed, closing his eyes.

Bond and R continued to argue but Q tuned them out. He felt like every part of his body was clamoring for attention; his head thumped and his chest itched and his limbs felt terribly heavy. There was a sneeze brewing somewhere deep in his sinuses but Q was too tired to coax it out. It was all so much and Q felt so bloody dreadful that he would have burst into ugly tears then and there had it not been for Bond’s gentle hand on his shoulder, R’s fingers squeezing his knee.

They’d stopped talking, apparently. Q opened his eyes to find the pair of them exchanging a series of concerned looks and nods. He sighed.

“I’m not going to Medical,” he said before either of them could say anything.

“Q-”

“I need to sort out this mess and brief M and-”

R cut him off. “007 has filled me in on the situation. I can handle it from here. You need your bed, love.”

(Bond’s fingers tightened almost possessively on Q’s shoulder.)

Q mustered his sternest expression which usually had R and the minions standing to attention. Some of the effect must have been lost with his pallid skin and dark-ringed eyes, however, because R simply clucked in that disapproving way she did when a minion handed her shoddy paperwork.

“If you can’t go home, at least go to Medical,” R said and Q couldn’t help but roll his eyes. Between R and Bond, Q was starting to feel like a disobedient child. Before he could protest that he had a job to do, R continued, “You’ve been locked out of MI6 computers until you’ve been cleared by a doctor.”

This blatant insubordination startled a cough out of Q which certainly didn’t help his case. R put the tissue box from the desk on his lap and Q pressed a handful over his mouth. He was certain Bond and R were communicating in that silent language again but he couldn’t breathe and he didn’t care. Even Q had to admit, his chest sounded bad. He should go to Medical but, at this point, that would be giving in and Q was nothing if not stubborn.

“I can just hack back in,” he muttered when his lungs had finally calmed.

R raised an eyebrow. “Q, love, don’t take this personally but you couldn’t code your way through Hello World in this state.”

Q didn’t have the energy to be affronted by that.

“Alright,” he said slowly. “I’ll go to Medical but only after I’ve spoken to M.”

R gave a resigned sigh.

“Come on then,” Bond said, pulling Q to his feet but Q tugged his wrists out of Bond’s hands the second he was on his feet.

“I have to change first,” he said.

Bond looked him up and down. “You look fine.”

Q shot R a long-suffering look. She hid a smile behind her hand.

“I can’t meet M in my pyjamas!” He said incredulously, not quite believing he was having to explain this. “It’s...it’s unprofessional.”

“It’ll be fine,” Bond said lightly. “You can wear my jacket.”

R snorted.

“It’s missing an arm, Bond,” Q reminded him and shooed them both out of his office without another word. He heard them laugh together behind the door.

Traitors.

~

“Ah, 007,” greeted M as they entered his office. His eyes widened when he laid eyes on his Quartermaster. “Q, you look like death warmed over.”

“Yes, sir,” Q agreed weakly, thankful for the change of clothes he kept in his office at all times. He didn’t think he’d survive the humiliation of Mallory seeing him in his night clothes. Bond was bad enough but his boss was where he drew the line.

M looked Q up and down before turning his attention to Bond. “007. A report, if you please.”

Bond’s report was brief and clipped. Professional, Q would say, which was certainly not a word he had ever used before to describe James ‘I parked the car at the bottom of the Tiber’ Bond. Q listened with only a half-hearted interest, wondering why he’d been so insistent on seeing M when clearly he wasn’t going to get a chance to say anything.

The ache in Q’s chest was almost suffocating and he found himself wishing he’d agreed to go straight to Medical after all. He wanted to say that the agents might be in danger but Bond seemed to be on top of that. He wanted to offer his services and say he’d be down in Q-Branch if anybody needed him and just walk right out the door. But all he could do was lean heavily against the filing cabinet and let Bond’s voice wash over him.

Quite without warning, a rush of intense dizziness flooded through him and Q’s knees buckled.

“Bond,” he found himself choking without really meaning to.

Bond turned and, upon seeing Q was rapidly approaching a physical collapse, bridged the short distance between them and caught him, lowering them both to the ground far more gently than Q could have managed on his own. Bond’s hand came to rest worriedly on Q’s forehead and the Quartermaster couldn’t suppress a groan of relief at feeling Bond’s cool fingers on his skin.

“You’re burning,” Bond said and M was crouched next to them but Q didn’t remember him moving.

M touched Q’s shoulder. “Q?”

But Q couldn’t summon the breath to say anything. He was coughing again and feeling very suddenly like he might throw up. The dizziness only grew with every feeble attempt to just breathe. He heard Bond and M talking over his head. He heard the distinct and shockingly unfamiliar notes of panic in Bond’s tone and reached for his hand (or where he thought Bond would have left his hand, at least) to reassure him that it was okay, just a cough.

“M’s calling Medical,” Bond told him quietly as Q’s coughs subsided. Exhausted, Q let his head come to rest on Bond’s shoulder, feeling his entire body turn to jelly against the agent’s side.

“Don’t need Medical,” said Q petulantly.

Bond chuckled. “I’m going to have to overrule you there.”

Q wanted to explain that, actually, he outranked Bond in this organisation. He wanted to tell him very succinctly that he was allowed to give Bond orders - not that he ever followed them - but that such privileges absolutely did not work in reverse. (Thank God, really.) He wanted to tell Bond in no uncertain terms that he was the goddamn head of Q-Branch and answered directly to M and only M.

However, what he actually said was, “You’re not the boss of me.”

(“I am, supposedly,” Mallory muttered.)

Bond laughed heartily then, shaking Q’s body which was still held close to his. Q was trying hard not to notice how firm Bond’s arms were. They were, by the way, extremely firm and being held in them was...very nice.

“Well, I can’t have my Quartermaster out of action. I need you in my ear to get my arse out of trouble,” said Bond, voice still full of mirth before he very suddenly became serious. “I never thanked you, by the way - for Skyfall.”

Q frowned. “Least I could do. My own bloody fault,” he wheezed.

“It wasn’t-” Bond started to say but the building anxiety Q had been experiencing since that morning bubbled to the surface before he could stop it and he pushed Bond away.

“I let him in!” Q snapped. “To tell you the truth, I’m getting quite sick of being the weak link in my own damn security sys..tem hh...hEHYISHHOO! Fuck!”

While Q dissolved into a painful coughing fit, he felt his anger ebb away as quickly as it had arrived and tears sprung unbidden to his eyes. Well, this was certainly unprofessional.

“Q,” Bond said quietly, pulling the Quartermaster into his arms again.

Q whispered a tearful apology into Bond’s shirt.

“It’s not your fault. You’re sick and you’ve been dragged round half of London. Anybody would be on a short fuse after the day you’ve had.”

Following some silent communication, Bond and M hauled Q to his feet before promptly depositing him in one of the chairs by M’s desk. Bond plucked a tissue from M’s half-finished box and pressed it into Q’s hand.

“You’d better clean yourself up or Stella will take one look at you and demand a month’s bedrest,” he teased cautiously, clearly relieved when Q cracked a smile.

“Speak of the devil,” said M at the sound of approaching footsteps.

However, it wasn’t Stella (the head nurse at Medical and absolutely not a woman you would want to meet in a dark alleyway) who entered M’s office with a brisk knock but Q’s temporary replacement. He was older than Bond by a good few years with thinning grey hair and carried a clipboard under one arm with paper notes. Q despaired, he really did.

Not-Q’s eyes widened slightly when he saw Q settled in one of M’s chairs. Clearly he hadn’t been expecting him to look quite such a wreck.

“Yes, Quartermaster?” M said curtly and it might have hurt Q to hear his title directed at somebody else (and somebody who still used paper notes, at that!) had M’s tone not suggested that he didn’t particularly care for the temporary Q.

“Apologies, Sir,” said Not-Q with a frown. “I didn’t mean to intrude.”

At these words, two hulking men stepped into M’s office and the unease which spread through the room had Bond’s hand resting on his gun as he instinctively moved to put his body between Not-Q and the others.

M’s eyebrows furrowed. “What is the meaning of this?” He asked sharply.

Not-Q’s smile was decidedly unfriendly. “Oh, Mallory, I do wish you’d told me you had company,” he said, putting his hands on his hips and pushing his suit jacket back in the process, revealing the gun tucked into his waistband. “I’d have brought enough bullets to go round.

Edited January 16, 2018 by AdrianMarx
formatting

[AngelEyes]

2 hours ago, AdrianMarx said:

Opening his eyes, Q was momentarily panicked because he couldn’t see a damn thing but Bond was soon offering his glasses which looked strange in his weather-worn hand. Usually, he held a gun there; it was almost incongruent to see him holding something as fragile as a pair of glasses.

 

I like this. It's a very tactile description.

 

2 hours ago, AdrianMarx said:

Bond and R continued to argue but Q tuned them out. He felt like every part of his body was clamoring for attention; his head thumped and his chest itched and his limbs felt terribly heavy. There was a sneeze brewing somewhere deep in his sinuses but Q was too tired to coax it out. It was all so much and Q felt so bloody dreadful that he would have burst into ugly tears then and there had it not been for Bond’s gentle hand on his shoulder, R’s fingers squeezing his knee.

This is such a great description of Q's physical and emotional state at this moment. It feels so true to his character somehow.

 

2 hours ago, AdrianMarx said:

Q wanted to explain that, actually, he outranked Bond in this organisation. He wanted to tell him very succinctly that he was allowed to give Bond orders - not that he ever followed them - but that such privileges absolutely did not work in reverse. (Thank God, really.) He wanted to tell Bond in no uncertain terms that he was the goddamn head of Q-Branch and answered directly to M and only M.

However, what he actually said was, “You’re not the boss of me.”

(“I am, supposedly,” Mallory muttered.)

LOL

 

2 hours ago, AdrianMarx said:

Not-Q’s smile was decidedly unfriendly. “Oh, Mallory, I do wish you’d told me you had company,” he said, putting his hands on his hips and pushing his suit jacket back in the process, revealing the gun tucked into his waistband. “I’d have brought enough bullets to go round.

Oh crap!

So happy you came back to this! It's fantastic!

[Shamaël]

I am SO GLAD you didn't abandon this fic! And this new part is absolutely amazing, as the 6 first parts were.

13 hours ago, AdrianMarx said:

Though the first time Q had registered Bond’s apparent interest in his health was that morning, he was all too quickly getting used to having someone look out for him in little ways like that. Well, and big ways; Bond was currently helping him escape hunters which Q would definitely classify as Big Way.

I love Q's way of thoughs when he's ill... 

13 hours ago, AdrianMarx said:

“If I can’t convince you to go to Medical, at least save your breath on the stairs,” he reasoned.

I liked that line. I don't know why. Little ways, I guess.

13 hours ago, AdrianMarx said:

“Thank you, R, but I was happy for the distraction,” Q sighed, closing his eyes.

Awww Q I love the way you're saying that!

13 hours ago, AdrianMarx said:

“You’ve been locked out of MI6 computers until you’ve been cleared by a doctor.”

This blatant insubordination startled a cough out of Q which certainly didn’t help his case.

I laughed at R's sentence and felt sorry for Q right after...

13 hours ago, AdrianMarx said:

The ache in Q’s chest was almost suffocating and he found himself wishing he’d agreed to go straight to Medical after all. He wanted to say that the agents might be in danger but Bond seemed to be on top of that. He wanted to offer his services and say he’d be down in Q-Branch if anybody needed him and just walk right out the door. But all he could do was lean heavily against the filing cabinet and let Bond’s voice wash over him.

... And I melted right here because I love Q but when he's utterly miserable it's even better. Does it make me a bad person?

13 hours ago, AdrianMarx said:

He heard the distinct and shockingly unfamiliar notes of panic in Bond’s tone and reached for his hand (or where he thought Bond would have left his hand, at least) to reassure him that it was okay, just a cough.

Did I say I melted before? That wasn't true. I really melted at that point.

13 hours ago, AdrianMarx said:

Not-Q’s smile was decidedly unfriendly. “Oh, Mallory, I do wish you’d told me you had company,” he said, putting his hands on his hips and pushing his suit jacket back in the process, revealing the gun tucked into his waistband. “I’d have brought enough bullets to go round.

...... OH. You can't leave us like that, it's... unprofessional.

Thank you so much for that part! I love your writing.

[IveGotRedHair]

Freaking hell I love this so much!! That ending.. 

[Elyze]

Fantastic update! I'm still loving the story as much as before! But that ending though... 

[WolfPack]

I'm a little late, but I have to say that I am LOVING it! 

I haven't read this until today, I'm so glad you are updating it again. Keep up the good work! 

[matilda3948]

First, I'm sorry you've been going through a hard time. I hope things start looking up soon

Alsi

This story is sooooo great! I'm loving Q sort of losing his control over his emotions as he gets sicker. And the cliff hanger?!! Wow.

[Kaze Wo Hiku]

I hope things are better for you, my PM is always open if you want to chat, rp or just need a break from what's eating you

 

On 1/15/2018 at 6:35 PM, AdrianMarx said:

Q whispered a tearful apology into Bond’s shirt.

Mmmmmmm <3  And that ending...how dare you, sir!

[Juto]

Gosh Adrian this is wonderful!!! So many lovely 00Q moments that only make my heart scream for more 😭 

That cliffhanger though... bloody vexing  

[AdrianMarx]

@RiversD  @Juto @AngelEyes @Kaze wo Hiku @matilda3948 @WolfPack @helyzelle @IveGotRedHair @Aliena H.

Y'all. I'm a mess. I haven't written anything in ages let alone for the forum. I'm graduating university soon so this entire year has been fucking wild. BUT HERE I AM. And if anybody is still interested in this story which I started writing almost 3 full years ago I wanna say a super big thanks for being patient with me! The final part is partially written and I do promise not to leave it for this long. My uni requirements should be finished by May so I'll finish and upload it then. Pinky promise! Anyway. Without further ado!

-

Not-Q was a fast draw but Bond was faster. No sooner had Not-Q pointed his gun at M’s chest than Bond was between them with his gun staring right at Not-Q’s forehead. He could hear Q’s ragged breaths from behind him and was very aware that there the henchmen’s guns were trained on him. Good - better him than the higher ups.

M and Q were both MI6 heads and far more important than a dispensable double-oh could ever be. This was what he’d been trained to do; to be the shield when he couldn’t be the bullet.

“You can order your men to shoot me,” Bond began, steadfastly ignoring Q’s pained gasp from behind him and M’s eyes burning into his back. “But I guarantee I’m fast enough to kill you on my way out.”

Not-Q seemed to consider this and, after a moment’s hesitation, lowered his gun to his side. The other guns, however, continued to stare Bond down. Bond didn’t move.

“Good call,” he said darkly.

“Stand down, 007,” said Not-Q calmly and Bond felt his blood boil.

“Not bloody likely,” he growled through gritted teeth.

Not-Q raised his eyebrows mockingly. “Technically, I am your superior.”

Bond scowled. “You’re a traitor.”

“I’m the Quaterma-”

“You’re not,” Bond spat before quickly reining himself in. For someone well-trained to bury emotions, he was struggling to prevent his anger at hearing anyone else try to claim Q’s title from bubbling abruptly to the surface.

Unfortunately for Bond’s temper, Not-Q seemed to pick up on this. “Protective of your pet genius, aren’t we?” He smirked, looking past Bond to Q. Bond had to resist the urge to turn around, to let Q know somehow that he’d be damned if he was going to let anything happen to him.

Somehow, now knowing how Q’s body felt when it was draped tiredly against his, Bond found it difficult to remember that he was in fact a highly trained MI6 operative with undoubtedly excellent marksmanship. Today, he had seen a much more vulnerable side of his Quartermaster and, well, Bond had always enjoyed feeling useful.

“Tell you what,” Not-Q went on, looking down at his gun and, despite all his training telling him not to take his eyes off his mark, Bond couldn’t help but follow his gaze.

And that small lapse in judgement was all it took. When he looked up again, Hired Muscle #1 had his gun trained directly at Q. Bond’s blood ran cold.

“Lower your gun and I won’t shoot your little mouse.”

Bond felt his control of the situation quickly slipping through his fingers. He’d very much preferred it when all the guns had been pointed at him.

“007, don’t you dare,” Q croaked out, voice a pitiful imitation of his usual clipped professionalism.

“I won’t wait all day, agent,” Not-Q said and his voice turned to steel while fire flashed in his dark eyes. “You have five seconds to lower your weapon.”

“007, that’s an order!” Snapped Q hoarsely.

“Four.”

Bond took a deep breath and analysed his options. He could shoot Not-Q right now but those bodyguards were likely as trigger-happy as he was. He’d barely have squeezed the trigger and they’d shoot Q. Out of the question.

“Three.”

“Shoot him, damn it!” Q’s voice was giving out on him. Bond could hear the telltale whisper of another one of those awful coughs on the horizon.

Bond was quick on his feet - two steps to the right and he’d be directly in front of Q. He could make it. In the confusion, M might be able to grab his gun and shoot someone. Maybe Q could grab Bond’s gun and-

“Two.”

There’s no way they’d survive. It was a lost cause. There was only one thing to do.

“One.”

Bond lowered his gun. Q swore.

“Good boy,” Not-Q cooed, making Bond’s upper lip curl. “Now, drop it.”

His tone resembled one used to speak to a dog but Bond didn’t rise to the bait. Slowly, he let the gun slip out of his hands and clatter to the floor, making sure to click the safety back in place first. He cursed internally (Q cursed externally again). He should have been able to figure out another way.

Bond took a step back as Q practically doubled over against his knees, coughing up a storm. Bond never took his eyes off the gun trained on his Quartermaster.

“Your turn,” he bit out.

Following a nod from Not-Q, both bodyguards lowered their guns. Bond dropped down to Q’s side and one hand automatically found his back, rubbing rhythmic circles as Q hacked up his lungs.

“Now, isn’t this better,” Not-Q said with a smile. “Space for a civil conversation.”

Q spat and raised his head, glaring up at his counterpart with anger blazing in his gaze. “I would point out that you’re the one who pulled a gun in the first place.”

Bond wished, just this once, that Q would hold his tongue.

Not-Q smirked at Bond, nodding his head towards Q as he said, “He’s got a quick tongue. I can see why you like him.”

Bond didn’t miss the innuendo but nor did he let his somewhat embarrassed response show on his face. Q, apparently having heard Bond’s silent wish, said nothing. Or perhaps it was because he was too busy panting, leaning heavily to one side in his seat and apparently fighting just to keep himself conscious. His glassy eyes blinked rapidly behind his glasses and for a moment Bond was afraid that Q would faint and, consequently, that his sudden movement might trigger gunfire he had no hope of stopping.

But Q caught Bond’s eye and the strained smile he sent in Bond’s direction was at least somewhat reassuring.

Don’t break down yet, he heard himself saying in his head; the same words he’d said to Q earlier. His brain was speeding through possible next moves faster than he could even contemplate them but he hadn’t yet managed to settle on anything concrete.

“What, precisely, are you hoping to achieve by keeping us trapped here, Mr Driver?” asked M’s voice from behind Bond. “Surely you must be aware of our extensive security. Killing us here would be a death sentence for you.”

Bond had to hand it to Mallory; he wasn’t her, but he was a damn good M.

Not-Q (Bond pointedly refused to call him anything else) simply smiled. “You’re quite the fool, Mallory, if you truly believe me to be the same Marcus Driver who gained Olivia Mansfield’s trust. Or do you really think so little of your predecessor that you imagine she’d be fooled into trusting a traitor?”

“It wouldn’t be the first time,” M retorted harshly.

Bond scowled. Alec’s - Trevelyan's, his brain corrected him - betrayal had cut deep for M almost as much as it had Bond. They’d trained together, drank together, laughed together, entertained the thought of sleeping together; he pushed down the spark of anger that flared up against Mallory.

Q’s body suddenly convulsed in on itself as he stifled a sneeze, apparently putting all his energy into keeping quiet. Bond saw Hired Muscle #1’s gun twitch in his hand at the movement and felt a leap of anxiety in his throat but he pushed it down.

Later, he reprimanded himself.

“Mr Driver,” M continued patiently. “Is there really any need to have those two guarding the door like that? I hardly think any of us are planning to make a run for it.”

Not-Q smiled indulgently. “Perhaps not but I wouldn’t want anyone interrupting our time together.”

Bond raised an eyebrow. What the hell was Mallory doing?

“What do you want from MI6, Mr Driver?” M asked calmly. “It must be something quite important if you’re willing to kill all three of us.”

Not-Q’s smile widened. “I already have what I want.”

Bond caught Q’s almighty eye-roll out of the corner of his eye and felt his lips twitch in amusement. In the field, he’d often heard Q’s snarky commentary in his ear on the inexplicable tendency of targets to play mind games with his agents.

Yeah, whatever, Doctor Doom, get to the point, said Q’s voice in his head and Bond disguised an amused huff as a cough. Not-Q looked at him sharply.

“Something amusing, agent?”

Bond smirked. “Oh, no. Just marvelling at your complete lack of finesse.”

A vein in Not-Q’s temple began pulsing and Bond could see his anger in the set of his jaw. He tried to imagine what Q would say in his ear right now. Probably something exasperated. Q’s tone was frequently exasperated when it came to Bond.

A movement by the desk had one of the guards aiming his gun at Mallory who put his hands up, knees bent comically as though he was in the middle of standing up. The other guard, apparently spooked by this, had his gun trained on Q again.

“Just taking a seat,” Mallory said, sitting down slowly and putting his hands flat on the desk in front of him. Bond was starting to get quite sick of having guns pointed at everybody but him. “You don’t mind do you?”

Not-Q frowned but said nothing. Slowly, the guards lowered their guns once more and Bond breathed a quiet sigh of relief.

“After all, both my agents are seated. I was starting to feel left out. I’d join them by the filing cabinet but I think I’d rather be at my desk.”

For the first time since he’d surrendered his weapon, Bond felt a surge of hope that they might get out of there alive. From where he was, he couldn’t see any indication that M’s intercom was active but if he were a betting man - and he was - he’d put everything he had on that being the case. M was broadcasting the layout of the room and the people in it straight to Eve Moneypenny’s earpiece.

Bond glanced at his watch, being careful to move only his eyes. By his estimate, it had been about three minutes since they’d been interrupted and Bond was sure M had activated the intercom as soon as the situation turned sour. Eve should have assembled a team in about-

The door flew open with a bang followed by a flurry of gunfire and Bond moved to yank Q down to the ground but found himself unexpectedly stopped in his tracks and he jolted backwards and overbalanced.

Blood blossomed across the shoulder of Bond’s shirt and he barely had time to grunt in pain before all three of the traitors were on the ground. The two hired muscles were dead, bleeding out all over Mallory’s carpet. But Not-Q had been shot in the back of his knees and was hissing in pain in a crumpled heap on the floor.

Bond glanced up at Eve who was lowering her gun and grimaced. “I hope you’re not planning to make a habit of shooting me,” he grumbled, pressing his hand into his bleeding shoulder.

Eve pulled off her light-brown jacket and balled it up, pressing it to Bond’s shoulder to stem the bleeding. “I’m sure you’ll do something to deserve it,” she muttered as she pushed harder, making Bond grunt again.

“Once is bad luck. Twice is just careless,” he sniped.

“Well, one in each shoulder. Should balance you out,” Eve quipped back, glancing over her shoulder at where Q was starting to stand on shaky legs. “Q, so help me god, if you don’t get your arse back in that seat I’ll shoot you too.”

Q had the good sense not to doubt her and collapsed back into his chair, looking more like a ragdoll than a man.

“How do you still have a licence to carry that thing?” Bond grouched, repositioning himself so his back was leaning against the filing cabinet and taking over applying pressure to his wound. The pain was thudding through his entire body but he suspected the residual adrenaline was doing something to keep him sensible.

“Medical are on their way for both of you,” said M, looking between Bond and Q with an expression as close to concern as it ever seemed to get. “I’ll get your reports on this whole business tomorrow. I expect you’ll be spending the night.”

Bond had never in his entire career spent a night in Medical. He’d been cajoled into several hospital stays but never a prolonged stint in Vauxhall Cross’s medical wing. Q though. Bond shot his Quartermaster an anxious glance and saw him looking more pallid than ever. He shut his eyes, focusing on breathing. Fuck. This was almost definitely his least favourite part of this job. Getting shot, no matter how many times it happened, never hurt any less.

“One minute,” said M and Bond opened his eyes to find M’s gaze fixed on him. He must look really bad.

Something scraped over to Bond’s right and he turned, at the same time thinking that Not-Q had fallen awfully quiet. By the time Bond saw Not-Q’s hand deactivating the safety on his bodyguard’s discarded gun, it was too late to do anything. There was an almighty bang and Bond’s heart leapt into his mouth.

Q...

 

[matilda3948]

2 hours ago, AdrianMarx said:

Y'all. I'm a mess. I haven't written anything in ages let alone for the forum. I'm graduating university soon so this entire year has been fucking wild. BUT HERE I AM. And if anybody is still interested in this story which I started writing almost 3 full years ago I wanna say a super big thanks for being patient with me! The final part is partially written and I do promise not to leave it for this long. My uni requirements should be finished by May so I'll finish and upload it then

I still adore this story as was super excited to see a new chapter. And it's super well written (love M being all not impressed by armed gunmen).

Hang in there! Sounds like you're really really close to being done with school. That's an amazing accomplishment!! 

[ichixshiro14]

I am so thrilled you continued this!!! Congratulations on being so close to finishing school, you can do it!!! 

[Shamaël]

23 hours ago, AdrianMarx said:

if anybody is still interested in this story

Yeeeeeeeeeeeessssssssssssssssssssss!!! Thank you so much for this great update! Your personal life comes first (congratulations by the way) and fics are gifts (and yours is a wonderful one), not orders or delivery. It's great to have a new chapter of this story.

I'm really tired tonight and I have difficulties writing in English, but there's a line I have to quote because I loved it:

23 hours ago, AdrianMarx said:

This was what he’d been trained to do; to be the shield when he couldn’t be the bullet.

Awww my poor Bond...

Thanks again and good luck for the end of your studies. Bon courage !

[AdrianMarx]

I know I said I'd finish this in May BUT I really didn't want to to my work so here's the final part! Legit, thanks for sticking with me through all of this because three years is fkn ages but I'm just glad y'all love Q like I do or you highkey would not still be here lmao. I love u guys and ur comments give me so much life ❤️ ❤️ Anyway, without further ado!

-

 

Bond pushed away from Eve and turned to face his Quartermaster, expecting but not quite believing the worst. It couldn’t end like this, not after everything, not for Q. In the time it took him to turn around, Bond had already seen the carnage in his head, seen Q bleeding out on M’s beige carpet. He thought about their desperate race through London, about everything they had gone through to keep Q alive, only for it to end like this in the safest place Bond could have thought to take him.

It wasn’t fair.

But then Bond saw the gun held firm in Q’s steady hand, hard eyes staring straight past him. Stunned, Bond looked back to Not-Q who had a clean bullet hole in the middle of his forehead. His heart would not stop racing as he looked between the two, Q’s heavy breathing deafening in the silence that had fallen over the room.

Cautiously, Bond leaned towards Q and slowly offered his hand. Q observed it wearily for a moment and deposited the gun there. Bond discarded it behind him and knelt in front of his Quartermaster who was pointedly not looking him in the eye. Bond recognised the familiar emotions flashing there - fear, guilt, regret. He saw in Q everything he hoped he’d never have to see; he saw his own first kill mirrored in Q’s feverish expression and it made Bond want to kill Not-Q all over again.

Bond placed his hand on Q’s thigh and sighed. He didn’t know what to say and nobody else seemed to be racing to the task so Bond did his best.

“Sometimes a trigger has to be pulled,” he said softly and he regretted it instantly because Q’s expression crumpled and, to Bond’s horror, there were tears glistening on his cheeks.

Any other day, he might have looked to Eve to take over. Any other day, he might have made a quip. Today, he guided Q’s forehead to his uninjured shoulder and settled one hand on the back of his head, feeling Q’s thin fingers clinging to the back of his shirt to ground himself through the panic.

“It’s alright,” Bond found himself saying without really noticing that he was speaking. “It’s over now.”

Probably brought on by the panic, Q’s cough returned with a vengeance and he tried to push himself away to the side. Bond moved with him.

“Can’t breathe,” Q gasped, curling so far into himself that Bond could hear his lungs straining against the compression.

He kept his hands on Q’s shoulders, trying to stop him from falling out of his chair. Over Q’s shoulder, he saw Nurse Stella and her team bustling around in the hallway. Q still hadn’t stopped coughing by the time Stella nudged Bond aside to get a proper look at the Quartermaster while one of the others started examining Bond’s shoulder. Bond didn’t pay the young man much mind and instead kept his eyes trained on Q who couldn’t seem to catch his breath.

By the time Q finally stopped coughing, there were tears streaming down his face and Bond couldn’t tell if they were from the intensity of the fit or the realisation that he’d just killed a man. As often as Q sent agents out into the field, instructed them to take the bloody shot, Bond knew he’d never killed anyone first hand.

Now, sick and traumatised, Q looked so painfully young. His youth had been a point of contention between them since their first meeting but now it stoked a burning protective instinct in Bond’s chest. He wanted to rip Not-Q limb from limb for forcing his Q into this mess. A realisation hit Bond like a speeding bullet: he hadn’t ever wanted Q to be him.

Bond wondered how often, from this point on, Q would catch sight of his own hands and remember he was a killer.

The ache in Bond’s shoulder became suddenly and horribly intense and he struggled to control his breathing as the edges of his vision started to swirl brown and grey. He felt sick. He thought perhaps Eve had slapped him.

He slept.

~

Q tried to protest when Stella manhandled him into a wheelchair with an oxygen mask strapped to his face. He definitely did not want to be wheeled through the halls of his place of work looking like this. His staff had already seen him in his bright red cat pyjamas - hadn’t he been through enough? The fight didn’t last long, however, given that he drifted off before they’d even reached the lift. But still. It was a good effort nonetheless.

As he fell asleep, he found himself absently wondering if Bond would be there when he woke up.

~

Bond did indeed spend the night in Medical for the first time since he’d been assigned to the double-oh division. They patched his shoulder and stuck his arm in a sling, dosed him up on morphine and told him to stay put.

He didn’t.

Q looked terribly young in his hospital bed, hair mussed around his face and oxygen mask hugging his nose and mouth. Quietly, Bond pulled up a chair and sat down. He watched the steady rise and fall of Q’s chest and found his thoughts wandering - quite of their own accord - back to the moment he’d heard Q whisper his name as he’d collapsed in M’s office. The memory sparked a feeling in Bond’s chest, something warm. His entire body felt uncomfortable. He tried to push the feeling away but the attempt was half-hearted.

Fuck work. Fuck MI6. Fuck complicated.

Q made Bond feel warm.

~

Hours passed, or perhaps they didn’t. Q started to shift in his sleep and, finally, his eyes fluttered open and came to rest instantly on Bond. Q blinked. Bond blinked. Then, Q reached up to slip the mask off his face and took a shallow, experimental breath.

“You probably shouldn’t do that,” Bond said, fully expecting Q to ignore him, which he did. “Stella will kill you.”

“Don’t tell on me then,” Q grumbled back weakly. He sounded hoarse and stuffy.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Bond said. And he didn’t tell.

~

Bond sat with Q for the next several days, consenting to stay in the medical wing on the condition that he be allowed to visit Q during the day. In total, Bond stayed three full days before he was discharged. After that, he stayed willingly, leaving only to feed Q’s obnoxious cats.

Q was improving, albeit slowly. He coughed and sneezed his days away but his breathing sounded less tight as time passed and Bond was just glad he was resting. After a lot of badgering, Q had been allowed access to a laptop. R told him that he could get back to work when he was well enough to hack back in. It seemed today was that day.

“Brought you a doughnut,” Bond said instead of hello.

Q looked up from his computer and smiled wanly. He shut the lid of the laptop as Bond handed him the treat and took a bite. Bond sipped his coffee quietly, noticing the returning dark circles under Q’s eyes with worry.

“How long have you been working?” Bond asked, nodding to the laptop.

Q shrugged, devouring the rest of his doughnut. Bond sighed. “You’ll be stuck here for ages if you don’t take care of yourself.”

“For the last time, 007, I absolutely refuse to take medical advice from a man who once showed up in my office with a broken arm and claimed it was just a flesh wound,” Q grouched, making pointedly annoyed air quotes with his fingers.

Quick as a flash, Bond scooped up the laptop and deposited it on a trolley, out of Q’s reach. Q scowled at him.

“I don’t need a babysitter,” he said haughtily, crossing his arms firmly across his chest. Almost as soon as the words had left his lips, Q let out an almighty yawn and instantly cursed his body’s apparently ironic sense of timing.

When he looked over at Bond, expecting to see a teasing smirk, he was almost knocked breathless by his expression. Bond was smiling softly, looking almost...fond. Q raised an eyebrow, trying to recapture the playfulness which had defined the atmosphere of the last few days. This shift was too heavy for Q and he found himself feeling unbearably tired.

“Lie down,” Bond said gently and, when he reached forward to adjust Q’s pillows and help him get comfortable, Q- well, Q let him. What’s more, when Bond started petting his hair (!!!), Q actually enjoyed it.

“Bond?” Q breathed sleepily as Bond’s fingers threaded gently through his curls in a way which felt positively divine. When Bond hummed questioningly, Q asked, “Why didn’t you bring me straight to HQ from my flat? It would have made more sense.”

Bond was quiet for a moment before he said, “I wasn’t thinking clearly.”

Q scoffed but didn’t open his eyes. He didn’t need to see Bond’s face to know that he was lying. A double-oh agent not thinking clearly in the face of danger? Unlikely at best.

“Bullshit,” Q sighed without bothering to elaborate. It seemed he didn’t have to.

“It’s true,” Bond said, keeping his voice low. “I wasn’t thinking clearly because...I was worried about you.”

Q’s heart stuttered in his chest. He sat up so he could get a proper look at Bond’s face which was sporting a distinctly uncomfortable expression.

“This morning,” Bond goes on, shifting in his seat. “I didn’t come by because I needed your help. I wanted to check on you.”

Perhaps it was because he was stuffed up to the eyeballs with cold but Q didn’t understand. Bond...wanted to check on him? Bond?

“You’ve never called out sick before. I assumed you must have had typhoid.”

Q chuckled weakly. “Well, not to worry. It wasn’t typhoid; just bronchitis.”

Bond didn’t seem to share Q’s mirth. Q forced a reassuring smile.

“Apologies, 007,” he said softly. “Perhaps this isn’t the time for jokes.”

Without a word, Bond placed his hand on top of Q’s which lay resting atop his blanket. His fingers were rough but they squeezed Q’s hand with surprising softness.

“I was really starting to worry about you. You sounded like you couldn’t breathe,” he said quietly. Q felt the warmth in Bond’s voice wash over him and his body relaxed of its own accord.

He forced a small smile which was supposed to be reassuring but probably ended up as more of a grimace. “It always sounds worse than it is. I have a bad chest.”

Bond sighed. Q found himself a little jealous at how clear his lungs sounded.

“I’d never have guessed. Call me naïve but since I’ve known you, you’ve always been the strong one,” Bond confessed and the intimacy of the moment scared Q half to death but he kept silent. Bond looked more fragile than Q had ever seen him and something told him that he was unlikely to be granted access to this more sensitive side of his agent again if he messed this up. “I was broken when you first met me. I’ve been in this job a long time, Q, and I’ve learned by now that getting...attached to people is inadvisable. The life expectancy of a double-oh doesn’t exactly lend itself to long-term relationships.”

Q could feel his heart hammering in his chest, just to the left of a brewing cough. He pushed the feeling down and was almost tempted to hold his breath if he wasn’t certain it would only make it worse.

“I’m not asking you for anything but I think you deserve to know. I’d hate to get shot somewhere in the Swiss Alps without ever telling you how much I…” Bond almost seemed to choke on his words. “How much I care for you.”

Q was so surprised by Bond’s confession that he couldn’t hold the cough back anymore and he tumbled forwards into his blanket, coughing so hard that tears streamed down his face. He half expected Stella to come bursting in and demand that 007 leave her patient in peace what with all the fuss he was making.

“Better out than in, Q,” Bond muttered above him with one hand on Q’s trembling back.

“Oh, blast this cold to h-hell! ih! hheNGISHhew!”

“Gesundheit,” Bond laughed, passing Q a fresh tissue which he gratefully accepted. “You’re starting to sound like me.”

Q wiped his nose, thankful that his days of disgusting pyjama sleeves were over, and took several gulps of water which settled unpleasantly in his stomach. He’d had quite enough of feeling like this by now. And he missed his cats.

“Anyway,” Bond said with a shake of his head. “If I hadn’t been such a big girl’s blouse, you’d be safe in bed right about now.”

Q rolled his eyes. This was just like James Bond; he took all the responsibility and never let anybody help him carry it.

“Don’t give yourself too much credit, Bond,” Q replied. “I’d have logged into my computer sooner or later. They were always going to get in.” Q paused, letting the silence hang in the air for several seconds before adding, “I’m just glad you were there. Without you, I’d probably be dead right now. I didn’t exactly have my wits about me what with the fever and all.”

Bond frowned. “Don’t dwell on it,” he advised and his tone spoke of experience doing just that. “You’re safe. If anybody wants to hurt you now, they’d have to take down Stella and I’d pay good money to see anybody try.”

Despite his sore chest, Q huffed out a laugh, thinking of the poor soul who thought it’d be a good idea to get on the formidable nurse’s bad side. It was Bond who pulled him from those thoughts by giving him a gentle shove back against his pillows. As Q relaxed, Bond’s rough sailor’s hands pulled the white hospital blanket over his thin, shivering body. At such an uncharacteristically gentle gesture from the rugged double-oh, Q felt weak. He suddenly understood why Victorian women were fainting all the time and, frankly, Elizabeth Bennet should be commended for not going weak at the knees at the first sign of approval from Mr Darcy.

A thought came to him then.

“Shit,” he sighed. “I missed the end of Pride and Prejudice.”

Bond smiled and reached out to brush Q’s unruly hair out of his eyes. “You’ll have plenty of time to watch it while you’re recovering. I’ll even suffer through it with you if you wanted the company.”

Q felt himself drifting but he muttered, “I’ll be holding you to that, 007,” before sleep claimed him.

[matilda3948]

On 4/8/2019 at 1:21 PM, AdrianMarx said:

When he looked over at Bond, expecting to see a teasing smirk, he was almost knocked breathless by his expression. Bond was smiling softly, looking almost...fond. Q raised an eyebrow, trying to recapture the playfulness which had defined the atmosphere of the last few days. This shift was too heavy for Q and he found himself feeling unbearably tired.

Aww! I could have quoted the whole thing but this is the bit that really got me. Really great job wrapping up this super great story.

[Elyze]

I'm so happy that you came back and finished this story! It was worth waiting for Congratulations on graduating soon!

[fickle_tickle]

This was absolutely incredible!!! I squealed out loud though the entire thing, stayed up late to read it all in one sitting, and came back for re-reading!!

On 6/5/2016 at 4:40 PM, AdrianMarx 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!”

This line had me reeling! I can just hear that posh accent stuttering through the sneezes! It's so in character (and adorably hot) for Q to clamor to explain himself for the terrible rudeness of turning up out of the blue and sneezing all over a perfect stranger's house. He's already been introduced as "under the weather" (uhhh yes love that phrase), felt for fever,  and plopped on a couch to rest, but he's still tripping over himself begging pardon!  *melts* Thank you for your valuable contribution to literature and my happiness! Your writing is divine!