Q

[0_0_7]

The mission was based in Paris and Bond had insisted on the finest accommodations. He'd made sure to get a two bedroom suite to keep up appearances as Q was going with him. It wasn't entirely the Quartermaster's job to be in the field but they needed some real time on site hacking done (or whatever wizardry it was that Q did) and so the mission was really his. Bond was his muscle, his guard dog, and his gun. Bond's job was to protect Q at all costs.

The train ride was pleasant, Bond dozing for the majority of the ride. He had a habit of falling dead asleep while travelling- he never knew if he'd get sleep while active on a mission so he stocked up on trains and planes.

And then they were at the hotel, their luggage unloaded onto a cart. Bond told the porter to be careful in flawless French and then escorted Q inside.

Comments

[0_0_7]

There was little anyone could have said to make Bond want to rebel than that implication by M. Q behind this? Idiotic. Laughable. Dangerously narrow minded. Q wasn't behind the box on his stoop and he wasn't behind getting stabbed. Bond's first thought went to Terrence but it could have been anyone. Anyone at all. It could have been whoever it was had the code delivered.

It could have been anyone.

"Understood," he said darkly, then turned on the bike to go back to the hotel. He'd have their things sent back to England by courier and he would catch a plane. No reason not to fly if Q wasn't with him.

"We'll see you when you return, double-o seven," Tanner said. Bond heard a tick in the line indicating M was gone.

"Is he off?" Bond asked.

"Yes," Tanner replied.

"Start gathering intel. Put R on it. When I get back I want a retrieval plan ready to go so I can get Q back. He's not behind this, Tanner," he said sharply, in that tone that everyone knew not to mess him about when he was in this sort of mood.

"Of course, double-o seven. Ticket waiting for you at Air France. We'll see you when you're home."

Bond cut off the line.

[quartermaster_q]

The first two days hadn't been so bad. Uncomfortable, certainly, but mild. There was a heavy bag over his head, cloth between his teeth, and heavy, harsh rope binding him to a strict wooden chair. Every now and then the hood would be removed and he'd be forced to drink- but it was just water and cold broth. Nothing to worry about.

Day three they started to ask questions, thick accents speaking in broken English, demanding passwords and codes... Q remained silent, of course, and was rewarded with a beating and unkind words- then was left alone once again.

Day four was when they started getting creative. Day four... Day four was something he wouldn't easily forget. he'd been trained of course, but training for someone in Q branch was fairly mild, and no amount of talk could prepare you for weatherboarding or the feeling of rope around your neck.

Q cried out and sobbed, but didn't speak- Except to ask for more water when his throat grew dry.

By day five he was starting to get annoyed. Where the bloody hell was Bond?

[0_0_7]

It had taken days- days of checking cameras, of listening to chatter, of hacking into emails. R was quite capable but certainly no Q and in Bonds opinion everything took longer than it should have. He'd blustered around HQ, making his presence known. Bond had harrassed nearly everyone until Moneypenny came down and escorted him out for dinner and one decent night's rest...compliments of a sedative she slipped in his drink.

Day five finally produced answers and M was in the process of authorizing an extraction team. Bond had no time for that and had taken off for Paris again. Paris...they hadn't even taken him out of the country. It had been impossible to find transport because there hadn't been any. They had only driven to the outskirts of the city and holed up in an old warehouse.

It happened, as things tended to happen with Bond, very quickly. He came in and started to shoot everyone he saw. Some got mortal wounds, some he saw fit to injure, knowing M would demand answers and one needed to be alive for that.

He worked his way through the building, a lone man bent on death and vengeance until he found Q.

[quartermaster_q]

Q heard the gunshots, and though he was worn down and not in a comfortable position, he smiled.

They'd left him stood upon a small stool, arms bound behind him, that same smelly sack over his head, and a rope around his neck. He was exhausted and starving, but he stood stone still, even when they'd kicked at the stool and shouted threats at him.

They'd let him fall, just once, just for a moment so he'd know what was at stake. He'd hung with his feet so close to the ground that he could almost touch his toes as the rope tightened- the psychological torture almost worse than the physical. As Bond grew closer Q feared it might happen again, and he swallowed hard as he reassured himself that this was fine. This was nothing. Bond would get him out, and soon enough he'd be headed home to good tea and a soft bed.

[0_0_7]

Q wasn't alone, though. Bond entered the room, everyone else in the building dispatched, and he was faced with a hulking man who was standing guard over the prisoner. Bond took aim and squeezed off a shot, hitting the man in the chest- but not the heart. He fired again but got a click and the hulk rushed him. They fought, Bond showing him no mercy. The battle moved around the room, the flat sound of fists and bone and flesh colliding. Bond fought hard, he had more to fight for, and he eventually got behind the guard and wrapped a tight arm around the man's throat. He squeezed hard and held on.

Death was slow and cruel. Personal. But inevitable.

Once he'd put the man down, Bond turned to Q to take the hood off his head and get him untied.

"Strike team five minutes out, Bond," Tanner said.

"I have Q. It'll just be clean up. Send medical, too."

"On the way," Tanner replied. "Is he...?"

"I'll report later," Bond replied, then ignored the man in his ear.

"You look a bit worked over," Bond said gently. A bit was, of course, a gross understatement.

[quartermaster_q]

"I'm fine," Q said, shocked by how painful it was trying to speak, and how rough and shaky his voice sounded.

Rubbing his neck, he looked at Bond.

"You took your bloody time," he accused, though his gaze made it clear how grateful he was to see the double-o.

[0_0_7]

"Would have been easier to find if I'd had my quartermaster at the helm," Bond replied. "As it was, I had to make do with R."

He very delicately helped Q down and was careful of all his wounds.

"What did they get from you?" he asked. He'd been tortured, he knew how hard it was to resist after a certain point.

[quartermaster_q]

"Nothing," Q assured him. "I said..."

He coughed hard, clearly in pain, then wet his lips as he held on tightly to Bond's arm.

"I said nothing, and now I really need some water."

[0_0_7]

"Come along, they have a mini fridge out here," he said, gently leading Q out of the room he'd been tortured in. Out in another area of the warehouse was what amounted to a break room and in it there was a sofa that Bond gingerly put Q down onto and then he found him a bottle of water.

"It's alright to crack, Q," Bond said. "It's never easy. If you withstood...You'd rather die than give up any intel, wouldn't you?" he asked with a note of admiration.

[quartermaster_q]

Q drank deep, draining the bottle an a few gulps and then looking down at the raw and abused looking skin on his wrists.

"They're my systems," he said finally. "It's a matter of pride."

[0_0_7]

"It's always a matter of pride," Bond smiled. "I won't make you recount it all- you'll have to do that in debriefing- but is there anything pressing, Q? Anything I need to do for you before the medics get here?"

[quartermaster_q]

"No," Q assured him, rubbing his neck where the rope had been. "They weren't very creative. Though all I've eaten for the last few days is broth. If I thought I could swallow I'd beg for a proper meal," he confessed.

Though truthfully, he was shaken. It hadn't been a pleasant experience at all.

[0_0_7]

"I'll get you something to eat as soon as medical clears you. Anything you like," Bond promised. "And then it's on the train and back home. I have some clothes for you in my hotel room. I had Moneypenny pick up some things and set it up for me."

He gently laid his hand on Q's hair.

"And you'll be on mandatory leave for a while. It's procedure. You'll have time to recuperate."

[quartermaster_q]

"No. I won't go on leave. These men, they didn't set this up. They were morons. Someone gave them that code, someone... Someone set this up, and I need to know who," Q said sternly. "I just need a bath, clean clothes, and maybe a bandage or two, but I'm fine, double-o seven. I need to get back to work."

[0_0_7]

Bond was hardly one to insist upon down time. He'd pressed on while hurt, while starving, while shot. He'd pushed on through unbelievable pain because that was what needed to be done.

"Alright," he said. "Tonight you'll recover, though. One night and back to it in the morning."

[quartermaster_q]

Q nodded his agreement, then pushed himself to his feet.

Bearded and bruised, without his glasses and in dirty clothes, he hardly looked like himself at all as he put his arms around Bond and embraced him, patting his back.

"Thank you for coming for me."

[0_0_7]

"You should have known I'd come," he said, holding Q as tightly as he dared. "You're my Quartermaster...I'll never leave you to fate. I'd annihilate the entire world to get you back."

[quartermaster_q]

"You bloody well better," Q replied, pulling away slowly and squinting as the team finally arrived with torches and weapons drawn.

When they finally made it to the hotel room, Q didn't even hesitate to strip down, tossing his clothes in the bin and studying himself in the mirror. He looked beaten and swollen, but not nearly as bad as he thought.

"This has to go," he said as he touched his beard.

[0_0_7]

Bond chuckled and nodded. "It's quite virile," he said with a teasing smile. "I've got my kit in my luggage. It's a cut throat razor...do you know how to use one?"

He quite liked the idea of shaving Q like this. The metaphor involved in shearing him of the most obvious evidence of his captivity other than his bruises.

[quartermaster_q]

"I'm not sure my hands are steady enough," Q confessed.

[0_0_7]

"I'll do it for you. You only need to hold still," Bond replied. He remembered the first time he'd come back from something like this. How he'd had no one. How he'd crawled inside a bottle and hadn't come out until M had ordered it. And then the next time, of course there was a next time, it hadn't been quite so bad.

But what he would have given for a soft hand, a gentle word. Someone to help him shave and see that he ate.

He could do that for Q. He would gladly do that for Q.

"If you'd like me to,: he said, giving Q something he hadn't had in a week. A choice.

[quartermaster_q]

Q was quiet for a long moment, forcing himself not to get emotional or upset, then nodded.

"Please," he said simply, swallowing hard. "I'd like to take a bath first though, if that's alright. I ache, and I'm sure I stink."

[0_0_7]

"You're not wrong," Bond replied lightly, trying to help Q keep those emotions that he could see just under the surface at bay.

"You have a bath and I'll order some food. Eggs and porridge and applesauce. Soft things, easy to digest. You can have something more substantial tomorrow," he said, clearly the voice of experience.

[quartermaster_q]

Q nodded, then looked at Bond.

"How do you do this?" he asked. "These sort of things happen to you all the time- and no one ever saves you. How do you... How can you get through this, time after time?"

[0_0_7]

Bond was quiet for a long moment. He took a breath to speak, hesitated, then said with quiet resolve.

"I do it because I must," he said. "I knew what the job was when I took it, Q. I knew the life expectancy was short and that life would be brutal. So when I don't die I consider myself fortunate and I carry on."