Chapter Text
For tho' from out our bourne of Time and Place
The flood may bear me far,
I hope to see my Pilot face to face
When I have crost the bar.
Bond was vaguely surprised to be invited up to M’s office for a meeting. The man had come down to visit once Bond was up and around and on his way to recovering; Bond hadn’t expected any contact beyond that. Entering the office to find Q already there was... very interesting . Bond allowed one eyebrow to twitch upwards. Glad that Moneypenny had brought him a neatly pressed pair of slacks and a navy quarter zip, Bond nodded politely to both men and said, “Sir. Q.”
“Bond,” replied M, “Good to see you looking more yourself. Please, sit.”
Bond sat, carefully suppressing a wince as healing injuries twinged, and looked expectantly at M, who turned to Q and asked, “So what is this ‘proposal’ you wanted to discuss?”
Q steepled his fingers elegantly, sat quietly for a moment as if marshalling his thoughts, then began, “There are presently a few dozen retired senior field agents living around the world, including in areas that Six has little presence, or places that are of great interest to us. That is a wealth of experience, expertise, and potentially contacts that is presently not being tapped.
“I do not think that all retired senior agents would be interested in re-establishing a relationship with Six - and indeed not all would be suited to this plan - but if we could get even, say, 15 or 20, it would significantly expand our capacity. And before you ask what ‘this plan’ is, allow me to explain.”
And Q did, outlining a vision for a system whereby willing, retired agents would become resources for other agents in the area in certain situations. Q would supply them with weaponry and special equipment which they could then give to an agent sent to them. Q also hoped to set up some technical capabilities with the retired agents to boost Q-branch capacity in far-flung places. Most importantly, the retired agents could provide local intel and contacts, as well as their personal expertise and experience.
“These ex-agents would be closely held, secret resources, of course,” said Q as he wrapped up, “Something we could access only when absolutely necessary, or for particularly sensitive missions, et cetera . Think of it as...a miniature Q-branch plus some advising available to agents when and only when necessary.”
“I’d be willing,” said Bond as soon as it was clear that Q had finished, “Q is right. As retired agents we know the places we live, and still maintain networks of contacts. I think...I think this could be a really good idea, even if most of the time we aren’t necessary.”
M sighed through his nose. “Well, you make a compelling argument, I’ll give you that.”
In fact, Q made a sufficiently compelling argument to get the program approved, though that process took months. In the meantime, Bond recovered and returned to the place he now called ‘home’. (Q had expended resources to make sure Bond could do so safely, with no fallout from his involvement in the debacle with 003, the cartel, and the terrorists.)
Almost a year to the day after Bond had gotten that fateful phone call from Q, the man himself appeared on Bond’s doorstep. Bond had been expecting him, for this trip was (at least in part) to set up the tech and armory components of his new program. That didn’t prevent the ex-agent from smirking and teasing, “I’m so glad I convinced you to take a vacation, Q.”
Q rolled his eyes. “Can I come in, or are you going to leave me standing on your doorstep?”
Bond obligingly stepped back, and made a welcoming gesture. “Do come in, Q.” Q did, looking around with open curiosity. It was a modern sort of beach house, with large windows looking out on the water, high ceilings, and an open floor plan kitchen and living space.
While Q was examining the space, Bond was examining Q . In keeping with his cover for this trip, Q was dressed in light chinos and a neat, light blue button down with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows. It was a good look on him. Bond swallowed and glanced away. “Do you need help bringing things in from the car?”
“I don’t need it, but it would be appreciated,” Q responded.
There was, as Bond had anticipated, a number of large duffle bags and hard-sided transport cases in the back of the practical Land Rover rental car.
“How did you get all of this here on the plane?” asked Bond curiously, hefting the first and largest of the cases.
“I didn’t. The Company arranged its transport and a team met me at the airport. They’ll be available if we...run into any issues.”
Bond raised one eyebrow slightly, but said nothing else about it. Q was an immeasurably valuable asset, and Bond was glad to know that he had protection.
“Not that I doubt your ability to handle any trouble that might come our way,” Q added, almost as if he had read Bond’s mind. It startled a chuckle out of the former agent.
“Well, Q, if you trust me to keep you safe, what do you say we put off the work until tomorrow and go get an early dinner now?”
Q eyed Bond narrowly for a moment, then agreed. Half an hour later, Q’s personal things were stashed in the spare bedroom, and they were walking down the beach, carrying their shoes.
~~~~
By now, in their sporadic contact over the past twelve months, Bond had told Q a bit about Josefa and her beachfront bar, so Q was not at all surprised when they ended up there. They arrived during the late afternoon lull; Josefa noticed them immediately and smiled, gesturing for them to come in. Bond raised a hand in greeting and smiled back, sun-tanned face crinkling delightfully around his eyes, smile lines deepening. “James!” she said warmly, then looked at Q, “And this must be the boyfriend from England.”
Q did not speak Spanish especially well, but he had brushed up before this trip. Nonetheless, he would have been utterly convinced he had heard wrong, the local accent muddled in his ears, except the look on Bond’s face suggested he had indeed interpreted ‘boyfriend’ correctly. Bond replied something hurriedly, making a denying gesture and shaking his head, but Josefa just laughed and said something that Q thought he caught most of. Something like, “But of course, you talk about him all the time.”
Bond did not look at Q until they had taken seats at a corner table with a good view of the door. When he did, he looked apologetic, “I don’t suppose I could hope that you missed that...?”
“I’m hardly fluent, James, but I do think I caught the gist of it.”
“Really, I don’t know why she-”
Josefa, appearing with impeccable timing and drinks in hand, interrupted to repeat, “Because you talk about him all the time .” Whatever she added after that Q did not understand, but it made Bond flush in a way few things could. Josefa finished pouring their waters and bustled away.
In an effort to diffuse the suddenly somewhat awkward situation, Q forced a laugh and joked, “Don’t worry, James, I know I am entirely not your type.”
“Oh, but you are. ”
The expression on Bond’s face as the words hung in the air between them told Q that he had either not intended to say them, or intended them to come off as joking rather than serious. It was the same expression he got when, in the midst of a mission, he realized he’d made an error and was rapidly deciding rather to make a run for it, or dive head first into the oncoming chaos.
Q blinked, trying to marshall his own thoughts. Bond beat him to it. The former agent glanced down at the scarred table, then met Q’s eyes as boldly as he had faced down madmen and terrorists and villains. “You are my type, Q. Almost painfully so. I hadn’t planned on saying anything so early in your visit since I didn’t want to make it unbearably awkward.”
“I- you- but you did plan on saying something?” Q asked shrewdly, latching on to that detail so he didn’t have to think too closely about the rest of what Bond had said.
Q had known Bond so well and so long that he could read the faint embarrassment that now crossed the man’s face.
“Yes,” Bond admitted, taking a sip of water and glancing away again. “I’m-” he paused, clearly searching for the words, and Q let him because it was a rare thing indeed to see James Bond at a loss, and Q recognized that he was searching for words because this was important . “Q, after the life I’ve had I gave up lying to myself a long time ago, and I’m...I’m old for a man in my profession. God only knows how long until it catches up to me. Which is all a long way of saying that yes, I was going to tell you, because by now I have learned - painfully - that there are some secrets not worth keeping. I like you a great deal, Q. You are very much my type. And I have wanted to tell you that since the first time we worked together.” Skyfall . Neither of them had to say it to understand the reference, to remember a tube map and the work of their combined intelects, to recall the banter and put your back into it . “Last year reminded me how much I...how much I missed you, and how much I trust you. I would- you could tell me to jump off a building and I’d do it without question, because I would assume you’ve got a plan to catch me.”
Q felt like all the air had been sucked out of his lungs, and his eyes burned. It was one hell of a declaration of love, for all that Bond hadn’t said the words at all.
~~~~
Bond could feel his heart thudding in his chest, palms sweaty, breathing steady only because of long, long years of training. He would have found staring down the barrel of a gun less nerve-wracking than the interminable seconds that Q merely gaped at him like a fish out of water. By the time Q found his voice, Bond was utterly certain he had fucked up, a heavy weight in his stomach joining the other uncomfortable sensations of stress and dread.
“Jesus fucking Christ, James. That’s...one hell of a declaration of love. I don’t- I don’t think I can do as well, not off the top of my head. But...but please know that...” Q pushed his glasses up his nose, a nervous fidget, “Know that I’m delighted to know that I’m your type. I would never in a million years have imagined that I was but...I’m glad that I am. And I’m glad you said something. Also, I...please don’t jump off a building for me?”
That startled a laugh out of Bond, an almost choked sound, but he found himself smiling nonetheless. “Anything you say, Q. Anything you say.”
They managed to return to fairly normal conversation over dinner. Bond could see that Q was struggling with how to navigate this unexpected turn in their relationship, so Bond had told him outright that he’d rather things largely didn’t change. He liked their banter and conversations about literature and science and politics. The only things he hoped would change - and here Bond added a smirk that he knew from long experience was irresistible - were things in private .
Q flushed and admonished, “Don’t turn your wiles on me, 007.” But he was smiling as he did, and when the conversation turned to the most recent research on black holes, Bond knew that they were going to be alright.
They walked back up the beach hand in hand. It was Bond who had reached for Q, uncertain but willing to try, and Q had beamed at him in abject delight. When they reached the house, it was Bond who was uncertain. He could seduce a mark with his eyes closed - half asleep, half unconscious with drugs or exhaustion - but Q wasn’t a mark and he didn’t want to seduce him. That left him floundering. Fortunately, Q suddenly seemed far more confident. He turned to Bond in the middle of the living room, glass windows behind him showing the late afternoon sun glinting gold off the waves. Hands tucked in the front pockets of his trousers, Q looked Bond up and down appraising - appreciatively. “So, are you going to take me to bed?”
Bond was startled into another half-choked laugh. “If- if that’s what you want, I suppose.”
“Do you object?”
“No. No not at all.” Bond found that he was still chuckling. “I just...Q, it is a rare thing indeed for me to take someone to bed outside of a mission. It’s been longer than I want to think since I slept with someone purely because I liked them as a person. I’ll take you to bed if you want - I want that - I just...” Bond cast around for the words. He did want it, but he was afraid he would fall back on his double-oh training and that Q would find that off-putting. With a sigh, he said as much, offering up honesty to Q like something holy. Honesty did not come easily to a man like Bond.
Q merely smiled beautifically, fully understanding the value of what he had been given. “Let me lead then. You’re well-practiced at following my instructions. Unless, of course, you will find that off-putting...”
Bond shook his head quickly. “No. No, I don’t think I will.”
A wicked little smirk danced across Q’s face. “Good.” He came closer then, until he and Bond were nose to nose. They were of a height, though Bond’s musculature and presence tended to make him seem like the larger person in a room. “I want you, James,” said Q lowly, “And you are a double-oh - now and always. I only ask that you leave any artifice behind. I’m not going to be a notch on your bedpost; I’m not a mark.”
“That you certainly are not,” James agreed, tentatively letting his hands settle on Q’s waist.
Q smiled again, sweetly this time. “Would you like to know my name now, so that you have something to call me besides a letter?”
Bond considered that, turning it over in his mind for a long moment. For the first time in months he felt like he had all the time in the world, even though Q was standing there before him waiting for an answer. “Tell me whenever you like. I have no objection to calling you ‘Q’.” He allowed himself a smirk and added, “Even in bed.”
“Well then let’s stick with that for the time being.” Q paused, considering, then added, “Promise me you’ll tell me if you don’t like how this is going? I won’t be offended.”
Bond conceded the point with a nod, though he wasn’t sure if he would even know. It had been a long time since sex for him had been anything other than a tool, a weapon to wield for Queen and Country. He just wanted to make Q happy - and it wasn’t as if he objected to sex.
“James,” said Q softly, “If you’re reluctant about this for any reason-”
“I’m not,” Bond hurried to say, warmed by the way Q said his name. He could listen to that forever.
Q went on as if he hadn’t spoken “-I won’t judge. We can take things slower, or not at all.”
Bond knew he didn’t want to miss this opportunity to be with Q, so he leaned in and silenced any further discussion with a kiss which he hoped left no doubt about his interest in the proceedings.
Q blinked owlishly, and Bond smirked a little as the other man visibly tried to collect his thoughts. “Um. Right. Bedroom?”
They made it upstairs hand-in-hand, but Bond stopped them again on the landing to kiss him. Just for the sake of it. Enjoying the novelty of finally finally being able to do so. “I’m glad I can finally do this,” he murmured against Q’s lips.
“Mmm, me too,” Q hummed back, running his elegant fingers through Bond’s short hair, “But isn’t there something else we were planning on?”
Bond laughed easily at Q’s pointedly quirked eyebrow. “Lead the way,’ he said, gesturing toward the bedroom door. And, as promised, Q did.
It was a lovely night, and a lovely week - which quickly turned into two when Bond convinced Q to add a week of true vacation to the enf of his planned work trip. They set up a command center in Bond’s attic, tested all the equipment, and then spent luxurious days driving up and down the coast, lounging on the beach, and taking Bond’s boat out for long, glorious afternoons under the sun. Bond cooked - Q had forgotten just how well Bond could cook - and they clung carefully to each precious moment together.
When the time finally came for Q to leave, to drive himself back to the airport, Bond pressed a gentle kiss to his dark curls. “Visit again soon?” he prompted.
They had already discussed this at length, and Q had tentative plans for another trip in about six months, while Bond was going to fly to England sometime before then, so all Q said was, “I’ll call you from the car.”
Bond watched Q drive away, leaning casually on the doorframe with his arms crossed and a half smile on his face. Six years into retirement and life was - unexpectedly - utterly wonderful.