Upside down (James Bond) - Secret Santa for matilda3948 - updated January 6th

[Shamaël]

Hello @matilda3948! You can't imagine how glad I am to be your Secret Santa this year!!! I really, really wanted to write a Sherlock BBC story, but I don't know why, Bond and Q were bickering in a corner of my head and I couldn't resist... This is my first time in this fandom,and I'm a bit nervous about it. What you're about to read is the first part of a bigger story. At the end of each part, I'd like to ask you your preferences for the next part, but if you prefer to be surprised, you can also tell me. If there's any English mistake, feel free to blame @AngelEyes who proofread the fic for me (thanks again!)...

Anyway, here we go. The first part takes place in Paris (I couldn't resist), and more precisely in the catacombs. It's a real maze and if you step out the touristic area, it's very difficult to get out if it. Anecdotally, two of my friends went into the catacombs when we were 18. They were sure they were going to be able to get out by their own. They didn't. We had to call the police, who called the General Inspection of Quarries. They were rescued after 12 hours. When we talked about it later, they told me that there were some signs on the walls, that probably indicated the way out, but that they were unable to understand their logic. Except from what they told me, everything I say in this part about the catacombs and how to get out of it comes from my imagination.

 

Upside down

He sluggishly opened his eyes and saw nothing but darkness. His head hurt. He was cold, dizzy and slightly nauseous. Clearly, he had not seen that coming and he was now paying for his lack of carefulness. He had been thinking the whole time he was controlling the situation, and the next minute he was lying on the ground, sedated by Simons’ accomplice. He blinked. The darkness seemed to grow deeper. He had no idea as to where he had been taken. He wasn’t even sure he was still in Paris. He sniffed. There was a strange smell around him, a damp, moldy scent that immediately made his nose tickle – and before he realized it, he sneezed. Harshly. Twice.

“Huh-huhhh’AHHSSHHOOhh! Hah’HARRhhSHOO!”

“Bond, is that you?”

He almost jumped at the (half-worried, half-relieved) familiar voice and thought that if M himself was at the other end of the earpiece, it meant that something serious had happened. Perhaps he’d been unconscious for a while. What he didn’t understand was: how could someone be so stupid as to kidnap a secret agent, forget to tie him up, and leave said agent his earpiece?

“Yes, of course it’s me”, he answered with a wet sniffle, and winced at the awful smell. He carefully straightened up in a sitting position and started to check what was left of his possessions. “Where am I? What happened?”

“You tell us”, Moneypenny said angrily (but Bond knew it was her way of showing her… affection, for the lack of a better world). “We lost track of you about an hour ago. We thought you were dead.”

“Well, you don’t sound exactly mournful, but I won’t be cruel enough to pass comment on that. Simons took my gun, my radio-transmitter, my phone, my watch. But he inexplicably let me live and that’s what matters. Where is he now? Were you able to track him down?”

“Yes, Q did a really good work.”

“Did he?” The agent smirked. Of course Q had done a really good work, the annoying little brat was very efficient when he decided to.

“If you hurry, you may catch him in the act”, M added urgently. “He’s in Clignancourt, waiting for his… associates. He won’t leave until he has gathered all the information he’s paid for. And that’s what we need, 007.”

Bond didn’t dignified that last sentence with an answer, because he was busy retrieving a small flashlight from the lining of his right sock. It was a great miniaturized little toy Q had offered him some weeks ago, “to be tested on the field”. M probably didn’t even know the quartermaster had invented it.

“No problem”, the agent finally answered, getting up unsteadily. Those bastards really, really overdid the sedation. “Just give me the exact address, and I…”

He stopped abruptly as he turned on the light and saw a pile of skulls right in front of him. Not one skeleton, no, but dozens, possibly hundreds of them. Very well stacked and ordered in small dusty shelves.

“007, do you copy?”

“… Yes, but I’m in bad company. I may be late at my appointment with Simons. How long do I have?”

“An hour, maybe two, according to Q’s research. Why? What’s the problem?”

“That son of a bitch left me in the middle of the catacombs.”

M cursed.

“I suppose you’re not in the touristic area, are you?”

“No, sir, not exactly”, Bond answered, noticing the stone and mud walls, the thin layer of dust on the ground, and the complete absence of any indication as to the way out. “Where’s Q? I’m sure he could help.”

He distinctly hear a deep sigh.

“This operation is cancelled, Bond. Paris catacombs are a tricky labyrinth. The only persons who can bring you back are the firemen, and we don’t want to draw attention on you right now, so you’ll have to wait until we find someone sure to come and pick you up.”

The agent frowned. Surely he had misunderstood.

“You’re joking, right? I’m not going to wait for the cavalry to show up! I need to get out of here now, not in six months, not tomorrow!”

“Calm down, Bond. If you had been careful in the first place…”

M’s voice was filled with a mix of worry and irritation. James sneered.

“Oh, please, don’t tell me you actually thought for one second I was going to obey and wait on the sidelines?”

The disapproval in the silence that followed was almost solid, palpable. Bond hit the wall with his clenched fist. He had not come all the way from London through France to let his prey escape now, now that he was so close to the aim. The man had been stupid enough to spare him, and he was responsible for the death of two members of Q’s team. There was no way Bond would abandon the mission.

“I know I’m starting to be redundant, but where is Q? Put him through!”

If one person on Earth could get him out of that dark and moldy maze, it was the quartermaster. First because he had worked hard on the case and had lost two men – and Bond had learnt over the months that when Q lost men on the field, his determination knew no limits. He could work 24 hours a day for an entire week until he finds a solution. Secondly, because, even if it was hard to admit, the kid was brilliant. And a nerd. Who knew? Bond wouldn’t be surprised if the arrogant brat had memorized the catacombs map, just for fun. He knew every street in London, Paris, Berlin, Madrid and a hundred of other capitals, as well as the bus and subway maps, his knowledge could extend to the underground, right? And thirdly… Well, thirdly, the two of them worked incredibly well together. Their partnership had started almost a year ago, just after the Skyfall events, and since this moment they were an amazing team.

He realised that neither M nor Moneypenny had answered, and the deafening silence was starting to be a bit worrying.

“Well?”

“Q is… indisposed”, M finally said, a bit tersely. “So, I’m going to call our contact in the French General Inspection of Quarries, and he’ll send a discrete team as soon as he can. It’s Sunday, so I guess you won’t see anyone until tomorrow morning, but…”

“Didn’t you hear me when I said that I want to get Simons before he kills for the third time? You know where he is but there’s no one you can send there but me, so get me out of this bloody basement now!” Now Bond was seriously pissed off. For God’s sake, he knew that M was efficient, and a brave man, but sometimes his prudence and will for discretion were a bit excessive. He took a deep breath to calm down (after all, yelling at the head of MI6 was not the best move) and suddenly realized what M had just said.

 “Wait, what do you mean ‘indisposed’?”

Another silence. Bond’s heartbeat slightly quickened and he swallowed painfully. Yes, there was a lot of mold in this basement. The sooner he’d be out the better.

“M, where. Is. Q?”

A younger voice, hoarse and barely recognizable, intruded into the earpiece.

“I’m here, Bond. Stop worrying like that, someone may actually believe that you finally purchased a heart and learnt how to use it.”

The agent grinned. And the feeling that slightly lightened his mood was not relief, no, definitely not. He was just eager to get out of here, and Q was his best option.

“Where’ve you been, Q? Dating on line? Okay, back to urgent problems. Can you…”

A frightening hacking cough burst into the earpiece. Bond frowned.

“Q? You all right?”

“Not dead”, the young man rasped. “Where are you?”

“If I knew, I wouldn’t ask you!”

“Just describe to me the room youhh… hhheeehh…”

His breath hitched suddenly and before Bond had time to react, Q had let out a sneeze that almost torn apart the elder man’s eardrum.

“HHeh’hITHSHHHhhuh!”

“Ow! Please warn a man before deafening him! I’m in a rectangular room, about 32 feet long, 13 feet wide and 10 feet high, and there are hundreds of skulls looking at me with resentment as if I had murdered them.”

“How bady exits cad you see id the roob?”

“I’m going to pretend that what you just said was actual English”, Bond mocked. “Four exits, one on each wall.”

“Huh’ETSCHHhih! Sorry, I’m… I’m going to sneehh-HHATttCHYUUHH!”

“Thanks for the warning”, Bond mocked.

“You’re welcome. Can you see any marks on the walls near the doors?”

Bond approached one of the exits and looked carefully. He was starting to feel concerned about the very distinctly audible wheezing in the quartermaster’s voice, and the poorly muffled coughing that assailed him every five seconds.

“Yes, there’s a triangle near one of them.”

“Look for a square or something akin to waves or zig-zag.”

He complied without a question. It was odd, but obviously Q knew what he was doing.

“So I was right? You do have a map of the catacombs implemented on your nerd’s brain, don’t you?”

“About to sneeze”, was the only answer the agent received, and he hastily took the earpiece away from him. “Hih’ITSCHCHH! It’s all right, M, I’ll live. Just let me do my job, for God’s sake!”

Bond had not heard their superior’s remark, and couldn’t hear his reply either.

“Okay, Q, I got a square.”

“Take that exit”, the young man said with a gurgly sniffle, “and turn left. You must be in a corridor?”

“Yes.”

“Look carefully at the branches and look out for a circle this time, or maybe a capital Y.”

Q paused to cough. Bond winced. It seemed that a whole world of germs had invaded the quartermaster’s body.

“Don’t take it personally, but you don’t sound healthy.”

“Yes, because alcoholism is so much healthier”, the young man snapped. “Did you find my Y?”

“Yes, but then the road divides in two parts.

“Logical. This is called the bivium. The crossroads, where life parts in different ways. Take ri-huh-rihhh-right aaahh-AHHSSHuuh! AHHTSSHUUhh!”

Bond bit his lower lip. He had never seen the quartermaster ill before. In fact, he didn’t believe it was even possible for Q to become ill, considering what the agent (and everyone in the MI6) knew for sure was strong germaphobia, and what Q simply called “high hygiene standards”. After all these months of teasing when the young man took excessive precautions not to be contaminated by any virus (Bond was almost sure that when one of his co-workers had a sniffle, Q took a Lysol bath as soon as he went back home), he was now unable to come up with a witty retort. Whatever Q had, sounded dreadful, and the fact that M wanted him to stop working in the middle of a mission spoke volumes about the quartermaster’s health.

“Once again, don’t take it personally, but it seems you’re going to hack up a lung any time soon.”

“Please, tell me something I don’t know. For instance, what can you see on the wall?”

“Mmmhh… Well, here’s a triangle, and here…”

“Take the road with the triangle.”

Bond frowned, wondering if Q was feverish, possibly delirious, and that he had in fact no idea as to where the agent was.

“But on the other room you said…”

“Do you know how to find your way into the catacombs?” The young man cut him off angrily. “Because if you do, then why did you ask for-hheh-for me ATchTCHYuhh! HehEHPtTschhh! HuhAHTSHchhh! Sorry.”

“Stop apologizing, Q, my eardrum’s already dead by now. Okay, now I have the choice between a square and a kind of skull.”

“The skull”, the quartermaster said without hesitation. “You are not far from the Sorbonne exit. You will arrive in the university’s basement. Will you manage to get out unnoticed?”

“It’s Sunday, Q. The building must be empty.”

“It’s Sunday? Really?”

“Well, at least in Paris. Maybe we’re in a time distortion I’m not aware of and it’s only Saturday in London”, Bond joked, but at the same time he was concerned. If Q didn’t know what was the day of the week, how could he guide him into that labyrinth?

“Very funny, 007.”

“Waves or circle?”

“Waves. You’re very close now.”

If Bond had had some doubts about his co-worker’s sanity while he guided him through the mouldy corridors without any visible logic, now he was impressed: he had arrived in front of a door.

“I’m in.”

“Great”, Q said, coughing wetly. “Now you get out of the Sorbonne and go to Odeon to take the underground. Stop at Porte de Clignancourt and then look on the map for the street ‘Dieumegard’. It means ‘God protect me’ in French.”

“I’ll certainly need God’s protection on this case. Q, they’re five and I’m unarmed.”

“Well, that’s your job, isn’t it?”

“Thanks for your unwavering support.” The door wasn’t very accommodating. He took a step back and opened it with a kick.

“AhhTICHSSHHuh! Hih’ISHHHYEW! You’re… most… welcome.”

Now it sounded as if the young man’s teeth were chattering.

“He’s got all the elements, Q.” Moneypenny’s quiet voice was filled with worry. “There’s nothing more you can do to help him. Isn’t it right, James?”

The agent was about to answer, but there was a yell and a curse at the other end of the earpiece, and for a minute he could hear nothing but chaos.

“Moneypenny? What happened?”

Finally, the woman’s voice came back, strained and tense.

“The idiot passed out, that’s what happened.”

“Will he be all right?”

The question was out of his mouth before he had time to think about it. He knew that worry wasn’t allowed during a mission, but he couldn’t help it.

“James, it’s the world upside-down”, Moneypenny said softly. “You’re on the field, risking your life, and yet you’re the one to worry. He’ll be fine, he needs some rest. Oh, and he said something about a light before passing out. That you may need the light to deal with Simons and his accomplices. I’m not sure he was delirious. Do you know what it means?”

Bond smiled and look at the small flashlight he had kept in his left hand.

“Maybe.”

(TBC...)

 

For the next part, would you prefer Bond or Q's point of view? It depends if you want me to focus on the caretaking and worry (from Bond) or the illness symptoms (from Q)...

Edited January 6, 2019 by Aliena H.

[matilda3948]

Ahhhhh!!! You're my Secret Santa?! And you're writing me a James Bond story with sick Q?!! I'm so happy! 

Actually I just started writing a new story with these two because I love them so much and there just isn't enough sick Q out there, so your choice was perfection. Perfection I say!

Thank you so much. I'm on my phone so I can't quote my favorite bits (but it's basically all of it). I'm all up for being surprised with the next part. You're super awesome  ❤️

[AngelEyes]

I already told you how much I like this, but I thought I'd point out a couple of my favorite bits!

16 hours ago, Aliena H. said:

“I’m here, Bond. Stop worrying like that, someone may actually believe that you finally purchased a heart and learnt how to use it.”

Sassy Q

 

16 hours ago, Aliena H. said:

“Yes, because alcoholism is so much healthier”, the young man snapped.

LOL

 

16 hours ago, Aliena H. said:

In fact, he didn’t believe it was even possible for Q to become ill, considering what the agent (and everyone in the MI6) knew for sure was strong germaphobia, and what Q simply called “high hygiene standards”.

Love this.

[Shamaël]

@matilda3948: I'm so glad you like it!!! I'm currently writing the next part, but as I have a lot of work to do in january, I cannot promise it will be over soon. I planned 5 parts and I shall update every 10-15 days. I just have one question for you, because I want that story to match your likes and expectations as much as possible: do you prefer that Q remains the only sick character in the story, or would you like some contagion? (And I stop with the questions, I promise.)

[matilda3948]

Goodness, don't worry about when you have time to write; take your time

Contagion sounds fun! Yes, please.

[Shamaël]

@matilda3948: Contagion it is then!  Once again, you can't imagine how excited I am to write this fic for you. I took for granted that you wouldn't mind a bit of angst, but do not hesitate to tell me if/when this is 'too much'. I must confess that there's a bit (okay, a lot ) of self-indulgence in this fic (there's no better line for me in a sickfic than "My God, you're burning up" - so I... got carried away and maybe digressed from your original wishes, and I'm sorry for that).

@AngelEyes: Thank you so much for beta-reading AND commenting on my story! It means a lot to me and it's incredibly kind of you.

 

Upside down - part 2

He wasn’t sure there had been a moment in his life when he had felt more unwell. Of course, if he paused to think about it rationally, there had been countless times when he had felt at least as unwell as he was now. Illness was at the same time tiredly familiar and monotonous, and always full of ugly surprises. Q shivered in the sheets and sniffled very ungracefully to avoid reaching for a tissue and blowing his nose. That would have demanded too much energy, and he did not have any to spare. Everything hurt, and every movement was exhausting.

He knew he had spectacularly managed to faint in the middle of a mission, while he was talking to Bond through his earpiece, but he didn’t have a clear recollection of the events that had followed. He vaguely remembered being examined by the medical team and then put into a vehicle and brought back home. Then he had slept, or at least tried to sleep through the discomfort of fever and congestion. It had been a hellish week, starting with Tina and Jacob’s death, and then…

He repressed a sob and closed his eyes. It was not the first time one of his co-workers had died, and he knew it wouldn’t be the last, but it didn’t make it any easier. He was talking to Tina, giving her instructions to hack Simons’ system, and suddenly, there was a shot, a cry, a second shot, and then nothing but silence. And now he had to deal with their death, and the responsibility of their death, because no matter what Eve had said to comfort him, those men and women outside in the big bad world worked under his supervision. And even if he knew that he could have done nothing more, that Simons would have killed them anyway, he couldn’t help but feeling guilty. Tina and Jacob they weren’t orphans, they weren’t bachelors, they weren’t alone. They had a family. God, they…

He really had to stop thinking before he choked on his own tears, but that was the problem with the (quite high) fever his cold had gratified him with: his mind was reeling, unable to stop, unable to pause, even for one second.

He suddenly froze. He had heard a faint noise in the distance, and a very recognizable one: the entrance door of his flat had opened with a small click and closed almost silently. He knew that noise by heart, and it meant that someone had entered his apartment.

When you work for MI6 and this kind of things happens to you, you immediately shift into what Q called paranoid mode. When you’re sick and dazed, it can turn pretty ugly very quickly. The young man straightened in his bed (the simple movement made him feel dizzy) and looked around him for a weapon. His befuddled mind couldn’t remember what he had done with the gun he was supposed to carry with him. He saw a dictionary on his desk and hastily (and unsteadily, because the whole room was spinning) rose to grab it.

“What do you think you’re doing with that?”

The sarcastic voice was so close it made the quartermaster jump, and he inadvertently dropped the (quite heavy) dictionary on his own foot.

“Ow!”

He blinked, knowing he looked like an owl in front of the sun, and desperately trying to identify the intruder, whose voice was oddly familiar.

“Q, it’s me, Bond. Can’t you recognize me?”

The younger man opened his mouth to retort that he didn’t have his glasses on and that his eyes were teary from the fever and pain, thank you very much, but all that came out was an irrepressible fit of wet sneezes.

“Hh’hhIESHHuh! Hh’iihhSHHoo! HESSHHhhuh! HHeh’hIHSHHHhheh! Hehhh-ihhh…”

The last one eluded him and he sighed, and immediately sniffed to prevent his nose from dripping.

“… Bless you?” Bond’s tone was almost shy, as if he was not sure it was the right thing to say after such a display of sneeziness. Really, maybe the man was a master at social conventions, but when it came to personal relationships (meaning, without having sex with the person in front of him), he was generally clueless.

“Ehhh… Thanks but… I’m not-heh I’m not done-heehhhETSCHH! Huh’ETSCHHhih! Huhh’IHHtscchh! Hih-TICHSSHHuh! Hahh’ITSCHHHish!”

He doubled over with the strength of the sneezes and almost immediately felt the touch of a hand around his arm. He realised that Bond had reached him for support in case he fainted again – and now that he was thinking about it, it wasn’t impossible. He was feeling light-headed and black spots were beginning to dance in front of his eyes.

“Now that was quite impressive”, the agent sneered, but the sarcasm couldn’t entirely brush off the worry from his voice. “Maybe you should get back to bed. No offence, but you look like shit.”

Q was too exhausted and too busy coughing his lungs out to protest. Somehow, 007’s remark didn’t sound like an insult. Maybe it was his way of caring after all. Bond’s hands gently but firmly guided him to his bed and pulled back the covers over his shivering body. As the quartermaster sniffed, he took a cloud of tissues on the bedside table and offered them.

“Thags”, Q said. The sharp sting in his throat intensified and he started coughing again. He blew his nose messily for what seemed the thousandth time of the day and threw away the now soaked tissue, then lay down on his pillows and closed his eyes, still shuddering. He wondered if he had dreamt 007’s presence in his flat, because now everything was quiet – and Q knew perfectly well that when the aggravating agent was around, silence wasn’t an option.

“Bond?” he whispered. “Are you there?”

If there was any answer, he didn’t hear it. His head was throbbing and he felt dizzier than ever. He swallowed painfully, breath hitching.

“No-hhh not again Hh’ETCHHuh! Hih’EhhhTCCHHhuh!”

He burrowed himself into the covers, teeth chattering, seeking for warmth, shivering with fever, until he felt a hand on his forehead.

“My God, you’re burning up.”

He opened his eyes with difficulties and saw Bond’s face (so that wasn’t a dream after all, the man had really been there) bending over him. He seemed worried and Q wondered why.

“I wanted to make you some tea, but maybe I’d better call a doctor?”

The worry was in his voice as well, and the young man smiled. Of course, he’d die before admitting it, but it was nice to be taken care of once in a while. Not that he needed it, no, of course not, but he couldn’t remember anyone making him tea when he was ill since his parents had died. And that was a long time ago. Working in MI6 at the level he had reached generally implied a rather solitary life after all. So, just for once, it was good to pretend that someone actually cared about his health. Even if it was not true. He mastered all the strength he had left to straighten up and sit in his bed. The agent’s hand left his forehead and the quartermaster couldn’t help but sigh.

“What happened?” he asked. “What do you need me to do? It must be an emergency if you’re here despite the high contagion risk.”

Bond frowned and stepped back. He seemed taken aback by Q’s perfectly reasonable question.

“What do you think? That I burst into your flat and dragged my ass over to your sick bed to ask you to work in your condition?” He didn’t only sound incredulous, but also offended. The quartermaster bit his lower lip. He did not understand.

“Errr… Yes, because what else would you be here for?”

 “Q, you realise that you fainted while you were talking to me two days ago, right? That you didn’t know what day it was?” Now, if he wasn’t mistaken, there was anger in the elder man’s eyes. He sounded seriously pissed off and Q couldn’t imagine why.

“… Sorry?” he tried, coughing wetly in the crook of his arm. Bond sighed, took the chair in front of the desk and pulled it near to the bed.

“Moneypenny told me you had a cold”, he explained while he sat in front of him. “But she was ill at ease, and at a loss as to explain why you fainted. Now you’re burning up, and you look like you’ve got pneumonia, or tuberculosis, so please tell me the truth: what’s wrong with you? Have you been poisoned?”

The little speech left Q breathless as realization hit him. He felt a sudden warmth spreading in his chest.

“You’re worried about me”, he said, incredulous.

He was sure Bond was going to dismiss his remark with a grin and a sarcastic comment, but the elder man just raised an eyebrow and crossed his hands on his chest.

“Yes, I am worried about you. And believe me, if you could see you, you would be worried too.”

The fact that the agent had confessed his concern so easily was a bit disconcerting, but the only thing Q was feeling was gratitude.

“Listen, I know it can be… impressive, but I swear to God that I do have a cold and that it’s not… I don’t know what paranoid scenarios you’ve been playing in your head, but I assure you that I’m not on my-heh… on my deathbed.”

He felt a too familiar itch in his sinuses and lurched on his right side to avoid spraying his visitor.

“Ahh-AHHSSHuuh! Heh’ISSHHhuh!” He gratefully took the tissue 007 was offering him. “Thags. What I beand is that… ehhh… HuhH’ITSCHHhsh! HuhhTSHHHeew! HAHTSHHShhhew!” He paused to blow his nose about a million times. Bond waited patiently. “Sorry about that. What I mean is that it’s what generally happens when I get sick. It’s not pleasant, but I can’t do much about it. My body doesn’t react well to viruses. Why do you think I’m extra careful with germs?” he finally asked more bitterly then he would have wanted. “It’s because they love to play with my extremely weak immune system. And I always lose at that stupid little game.”

“The fact that you barely slept last week probably didn’t help.” Bond’s voice was calmer now, but he was still eying him warily.

“Guilty as charged.” The young man took a deep breath and managed not to cough. There were still traces of uneasiness in the agent’s eyes, and while Q was touched by this proof of friendship, he did not want him to make a fuss about his illness. “It’s a cold, nothing more. A particularly nasty, vicious, awful cold, but just a cold, okay?”

Bond nodded slowly.

“In other terms, ‘your concern is appreciated, but unnecessary’?”

Q wanted to answer, but he barely had time to catch the explosive sneeze in his steepled hands.

“HuhAHTSHeww!”

“Bless you.”

“HuhhhHATTTCHEW!”

“It’s starting to get redundant, don’t you…”

“HahhhAHTCH’CHYEW!”

“Okay.” Bond rose while Q was still poised on the edge of a fourth explosion, breath hitching wildly, but unable to sneeze. “I’ll come back when you have something more interesting to say, right?”

The quartermaster smiled at the banter. This was how they usually interacted and it felt much more natural than those last five minutes of awkward blatant emotionalism.

Ten minutes and six sneezes later, he was dozing off, when 007 reappeared.

“Done?”

“For now.”

“I brought you tea and company.”

A sudden weight popped on Q’s legs, accompanied by a feeble meowing.

“They’re not allowed-heh they’re not allowed-hih’ITSCHCHH! id by bedroom.”

“Come on, they wanted to come. I’m sure somehow they felt you were sick and they wanted to comfort you”, the agent protested with a teasing smile.

“They wanted to be fed, nothing more”, Q muttered, but he couldn’t deny he was pleased.

 “What did you name them?” the agent asked, pointing out at the cats who now were both on the bed, begging for strokes.

“Turing and Asimov”, Q answered absent-mindedly, feeling a new tickle in his nostrils.

“Are you serious?”

“Bond, as you like to point out, I’m a nerd. Did you believe I’d called them, I don’t know, Oscar and Tiger? Well, sorry to disappoint.”

The agent laughed and Q smiled. Offended at the sound, Turing jumped off the bed.

“Here’s your tea. I took the liberty of adding honey to it, since you seem to have eaten an entire box of sandpaper.”

Q took the steaming mug in his hands and swallowed carefully. God, the hot Earl Grey was pure bliss and soothed his tender throat.

“I’m eternally in your debt.”

“I’ll make sure to remind you that the next time I’ll need some equipment”, Bond grinned.

Q rolled his eyes, but he smiled too.

“Do you need anything else?”

The quartermaster shook his head impatiently.

“I need to be rid of that blasted cold and get back to work”, he rasped. “Speaking of which… what happened in Paris? Maybe Eve told me, but I don’t remember. I wasn’t at the top of my game at that moment.”

“And you’re still off duty”, Bond replied with a mocking grin, “so I’ll make that quick for you: your flashlight worked perfectly, Simons is dead and I got the files back.”

Simons is dead. It meant that Tina and Jacob had been avenged. It did not lessen the weight on the young man’s chest, but… at least the man wouldn’t kill again. He sighed and closed his eyes.

“Thank you”, he whispered.

“I didn’t do that for you. As you pointed out, it is my job.”

Q gave a disheartening chuckle.

“Q”, Bond said more seriously, briefly squeezing the quartermaster’s shoulder, “it wasn’t your fault. They made an informed decision. As we all do.”

He swallowed and nodded, on the verge of tears.

“New topic”, he said, clearing his throat. “Don’t misunderstand me, Bond, I’m glad you’re alive, but… why didn’t Simons kill you when he had the opportunity? That doesn’t make sense.”

The agent’s eyes narrowed and Q knew that he was up to something.

“I’ve been thinking about that fact with great attention and I came up with an answer.”

“EhHHSSShoo! Ehh-huh-hhh’IhhSHHHYEW! Tell be.”

007 wavered while Q reached for clean tissues.

“You’re sick. You need bedrest.”

“Well, in case you hadn’t noticed, I’m in bed and I’m resting.” The fact that he yawned at the same time wasn’t helping his point. He added hastily: “And I think you have a problem, and no one to talk to about it.”

 “There’s no one I can trust in MI6”, Bond sighed. “Except you.”

Wow, that was unexpected.

“Why me?” Q spluttered, almost choking on his tea.

“Because someone hacked into my personal computer yesterday, which means there’s a mole in MI6.” That was not very comforting indeed, but – blame that retched cold – Q still couldn’t understand Bond’s reasoning. The agent resumed his explanation. “Simons knew that there is a spy amongst us, but he didn’t know who it was. That’s why he let me live. After all, it could be me. What if he killed his only ally? He couldn’t take that risk. And considering that I’ve been stupid enough to let them sedate me in the first place, he could believe that I was in fact offering him a possibility to escape.”

“… So he took your weapons and imprisoned you in the catacombs, leaving you an earpiece to call for help. Yes, that makes sense. But why do you trust me of all people? After all, I could be the traitor, for all you know.”

“No. You’re the only person who couldn’t hack into my computer yesterday.”

The quartermaster couldn’t help feeling a little offended.

“Really, Bond? Do you really think that a little cold could knock me off that easily?”

The disbelieving glare he received was a bit humiliating. He yawned for the second time.

“First of all, yes. And secondly, you forgot your laptop in MI6.”

The words took time to reach the younger man’s brain, and when it finally did…

“What?” he yelled, triggering a new coughing fit that left him breathless.

“Are you sure it’s ‘just a cold’? Because…”

“007. Where. Is. My. Laptop?” Q wasn’t ready for a new display of worry from the usually unemotional agent. His computer was his life. He never forgot it. How was that even possible?

“I brought it with me, of course.”

Q let out a sigh of relief. He had trouble focusing.

“Give it to me.”

The elder man shook his head.

“Off duty. Bedrest. Remember?”

“Heh’ITSCHhh! How could I-heh… forget Hhhh’ITSCHCHH! Haah’ATSCHHhih!”

He knew it was useless to protest. When Bond had that look, you could beg or threaten, he would never give you what you wanted. And, somehow, it was comforting to know that someone put his health above the MI6 work. It was with this thought that he finally fell asleep (he suspected 007 had put a mild sedative into the tea – it was too good to be true, and his head was unusually heavy). The last thing he remembered was a cold hand checking his forehead for a fever.

Unemotional – in a pig’s eye!

Edited January 6, 2019 by Aliena H.

[matilda3948]

Oh, this is soooo good! Poor Q, terrible sick, blaming himself the deaths, and then getting some awkward TLC from Bond. LOVE it!

11 hours ago, Aliena H. said:

“Hh’hhIESHHuh! Hh’iihhSHHoo! HESSHHhhuh! HHeh’hIHSHHHhheh! Hehhh-ihhh…”

The last one eluded him and he sighed, and immediately sniffed to prevent his nose from dripping.

“… Bless you?” Bond’s tone was almost shy, as if he was not sure it was the right thing to say after such a display of sneeziness. Really, maybe the man was a master at social conventions, but when it came to personal relationships (meaning, without having sex with the person in front of him), he was generally clueless.

So true. If he's not working some kind of angle, it's doesn't make sense.

11 hours ago, Aliena H. said:

“You’re worried about me”, he said, incredulous.

He was sure Bond was going to dismiss his remark with a grin and a sarcastic comment, but the elder man just raised an eyebrow and crossed his hands on his chest.

“Yes, I am worried about you. And believe me, if you could see you, you would be worried too.”

 Love when things get so bad they drop the pretense for a moment and just get honest.

11 hours ago, Aliena H. said:

 

“Okay.” Bond rose while Q was still poised on the edge of a fourth explosion, breath hitching wildly, but unable to sneeze. “I’ll come back when you have something more interesting to say, right?”

The quartermaster smiled at the banter. This was how they usually interacted and it felt much more natural than those last five minutes of awkward blatant emotionalism.

 

11 hours ago, Aliena H. said:

Well, in case you hadn’t noticed, I’m in bed and I’m resting.” The fact that he yawned at the same time wasn’t helping his point. He added hastily: “And I think you have a problem, and no one to talk to about it.”

 “There’s no one I can trust in MI6”, Bond sighed. “Except you.”

To me, this is what it comes down to with the two of them: trust (and banter). 

Super brilliant! Thank you  

[AngelEyes]

You obviously know I think this is awesome, but her's my favorite parts!

On 1/6/2019 at 1:57 AM, Aliena H. said:

He knew he had spectacularly managed to faint in the middle of a mission, while he was talking to Bond through his earpiece, but he didn’t have a clear recollection of the events that had followed.

Spectacularly faint, love this description!

 

On 1/6/2019 at 1:57 AM, Aliena H. said:

He realised that Bond had reached him for support in case he fainted again – and now that he was thinking about it, it wasn’t impossible.

I just like that he thinks about it and decides, yeah, could happen...

 

On 1/6/2019 at 1:57 AM, Aliena H. said:

“You’re worried about me”, he said, incredulous.

He was sure Bond was going to dismiss his remark with a grin and a sarcastic comment, but the elder man just raised an eyebrow and crossed his hands on his chest.

“Yes, I am worried about you. And believe me, if you could see you, you would be worried too.”

Just, Awwww

 

On 1/6/2019 at 1:57 AM, Aliena H. said:

“Okay.” Bond rose while Q was still poised on the edge of a fourth explosion, breath hitching wildly, but unable to sneeze. “I’ll come back when you have something more interesting to say, right?”

The quartermaster smiled at the banter. This was how they usually interacted and it felt much more natural than those last five minutes of awkward blatant emotionalism.

 

LOL. Funny, and I love that they are both more comfortable with this interaction.

 

On 1/6/2019 at 1:57 AM, Aliena H. said:

“Turing and Asimov”, Q answered absent-mindedly, feeling a new tickle in his nostrils.

“Are you serious?”

“Bond, as you like to point out, I’m a nerd. Did you believe I’d called them, I don’t know, Oscar and Tiger? Well, sorry to disappoint.”

OMG, Love it!

[AntheaHolmes]

Oh I love that Q named his cats Turing and Asimov. It really fits. I also enjoyed caring James. Q really is a workaholic. Very well written.