(no subject)

[heroichearts]

When Q found himself on 004's bad side (worse side, worst side?), it had been like a lightning bolt of fear through him, a sudden knowledge that Q was in danger, like they were in the same room and could hear his frantic cursing. Bond hadn't given it a second thought, hauling himself down to QBranch, pulling the wayward 00 from his victim, and putting up a resoundingly one-sided fight (given the tactical stabbings 4 had already received).

Hadn't given it a second thought, but in the hours since, he's given it plenty of thought. And plenty of thinking that he's not going to bring this up. It's not allowed, if it's what he presumes this is, not for people like him, like the both of them.

He gives voice to none of it, later, when he's out and about with only a few scuffs and bruises to his name. Could call Q, he supposes. Text him. But he finds that he doesn't need to, and if he was still in doubt as to what this is, he isn't any longer. Tracks him down, not by any of his usual means, but simply knowing where he is, down some side street alley, practically a hole in the wall of a cafe he doesn't think he's ever heard of before.

He knows Q's here.

Comments

[wetware]

When Bond opens the door to the cafe, the woman working there gives him a through and critical looking over.

"I'm busy, so I'm not going to threaten you to be good to him, but you can take it as a given." Eventually, she sees something she approves of and gestures towards the kitchen door. "He's in the back."

[heroichearts]

So he's expected.

Well...shit, he's not sure if that's better or worse. He gives a thankful nod and heads for the back. He's here. And he...quite frankly doesn't know what to say.

[wetware]

And there is Q, sitting on a stool, mechanically peeling potatoes. He just needed something to do with his hands so that he could stay busy enough not to think. When Bond comes in, he looks up at him and it's clear he's been hurt: there are butterfly bandages, a purpling black-eye, and nasty split lip that's been patched up with superglue. (It stings like hell, but works better than anything else, really.)

"Ah."

[heroichearts]

"...I should have called," he starts, cautiously, still not...sure of what to say or how to react (except with a low boiling anger at Q being so hurt). "Had to see how you were."

[wetware]

"I'll live. Had plenty worse."

Q seems nervous. Unsettled and unable to sit still. He puts the peeler and potato down for a moment, then picks them back up, and doesn't seem to know where to put his hands.

"Would you care to sit?"

[heroichearts]

"Right. Yes. I'll...help." Surely there's more than one peeler. He can do something as basic as peel, and it'll get his own hands doing something easy and repetitive and calming.

"You did a good number on him yourself."

[wetware]

There is another peeler and a never-ending pile of potatoes. Once the peels are off, he drops the spud into a clean plastic tub at his side before nudging it to be more in the middle.

"He's still alive? I assume so. Double0s are rather resilient."

[heroichearts]

"It's rather unfortunate." He'll help with the peeling. Better that way. They don't have to look at each other, either. "But alas, neither one of us got him to kick the bucket. Not worth it, really."

[wetware]

"I suppose not. The paperwork would be appalling." Thump goes the potato in the tub. And another one to peel.

"I asked Eve to message me if it looked as if was going to be fired." A pause. "Or worse. I don't know that she would, but I thought it worth the risk to ask."

He is quite sure that Bond isn't here to bring him in.

[heroichearts]

"I think you'll get plenty of heads up if that's the case. Still, might want to lay low, just for a bit." Well, no, M will want to talk to him, certainly. Have to figure this all out and where to go from here.

"Nice place, this."

[wetware]

"Yes, medical seems to think I need a few days off and I am inclined to agree." He is quite good at peeling potatoes. Perhaps it's a similar skill set to the fine motor control needed for building small explosives?

"And it is. They do a good breakfast." Another pause. "Marie, the owner, she's an old friend and we look out for each other."

[heroichearts]

"She knew to expect me." Just going to put that out there. They've known one another long enough; Q could certainly have just claimed that a certain dashing gentleman would come through the door for him, but he suspects it's more than that. "Made a very implied threat. I wouldn't want to cross her."

[wetware]

"Only implied? Well, she does like you." For the first time since he entered the room, Q looks up and smiles at Bond. "I still get very detailed descriptions of being hanged by my toes and beaten with an organic carrot."

You know, as one does.

"I, ah, we should talk about how you, er, that you. That we."

[heroichearts]

"She's busy, or I'm sure I would've gotten something incredibly detailed."

He stares at the potato in his hand, doesn't reply about the thing they should talk about until he's done with it. Doesn't for a while even after he starts another.

"We've saved each other from a bit of trouble. Does it have to be more than that?"

Regardless of the fact that it is.

[wetware]

"No, it doesn't."

Q worries at his lower lip and then breaks off, wincing as he reopens a small section of the split. He licks away a bead of blood.

"It hasn't been more than that. Not for me. Since Morocco."

How long ago was that mission? That utterly disastrous mission where Bond nearly died more than once and Q somehow managed to guess(?) where he was, how to get him out, and that he was still alive. That he wouldn't believe anyone who said he must be dead and that they needed to offer support until he could take it.

[heroichearts]

"...Christ. I was in a bit of a jam there. Only got out thanks to you."

Which means it's been a while.

"You didn't say anything then."

[wetware]

"No, it seemed to be a one-way arrangement and, well, occasional bouts of murderous pricks aside, I rather like my job. I know why it's frowned upon. If I can feel what you feel, or vice versa, it's easier to hurt one or both of us, to blackmail, but I've done well enough since Morocco."

Thud. Another potato in the bucket.

[heroichearts]

"You've been through some shit." His is not an easy life, that's for certain. "I'd apologize, but that might imply I'll be more careful in the future." And he most certainly will not.

[wetware]

"I never expected it. I, ah, I am sorry that I ...that I pushed that twit too hard and called on you. Not that it's worth anything, I didn't mean to." He's glad he did, because he strongly suspects that 004 might've killed him or beat him even worse.

He looks about to say something else when Marie opens the door with a heavy bag in hand. "You too, idiots, take your dinner and go get into the cab outside. Blondie, you take him home and make sure he eats before he has to take more pain drugs. You, S-...stupid, get out of here before I kick your face because I can't tell it from your arse."

She will also give Q a kiss on both cheeks before he leaves.

[heroichearts]

He's been called far worse than just blondie, and catches that stupid was certainly going to be something else. He comments on neither name, thanking her for the food because he's not a heathen even if he tends to be rude.

He'll help Q to the cab, if he needs it, settled with a quiet worry. They can talk later with slightly fewer people around.

"That twit, by the way, didn't need much pushing. I imagine he was looking for an excuse." Because they can talk about that without fear.

[wetware]

As much as he might not like to admit it, Q could use a hand getting into the cab. As the last of the shock and adrenaline fade, he's slowly starting to stiffen up from the beating he's going to be miserable in about an hour. He'll have hot packs at home and that ought to help.

"He's been increasingly awful lately. Always difficult, but given the way he'd been speaking to my staff, I reported him. He came to confront me, and well, I might've been a bit lippy. A shade sharp-tongued."

[heroichearts]

"You mean you were you about it." He has to at least give a smirk, because Q can be terribly aggravating to the right (or wrong) people.

"Glad I could help." So thanks for reaching out instead of letting yourself get beaten most of the way to death if not to death?

[wetware]

"I should make you something lovely as a thank you." He is starting to unwind a little. This isn't ideal, no, but it's not a complete disaster. It's a process to build his walls back up, and the occasional feeling likely tumbles through whatever this thing is between them.

"A tactical pen. I could do two, since I need to replace mine."

[heroichearts]

"But would it have anything fancier to it? A laser that cuts through steel? Would it explode?" Gotta have an exploding pen. "You ought to consult with your fellow nerds on that one. They might have some ideas for yours as well."

[wetware]

"You'll have to wait and see." Q's smile is a gentler thing than Bond might be familiar with. He enjoys looking out the window of the cab as they wind their way through London, out of anywhere that's particularly upscale.

Eventually, they pull up alongside a row of shops with little flat above them and Q pays for their ride. He gives a substantial tip and the cabbie already has a coffee and snack from Marie, so it's been a good deal for everyone.

"C'mon, Bond, you can help lever me up the stairs." The entrance to his flat is hidden off the main street and there are some rather creative, and probably exceedingly illegal, safety measures.