(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]

"You do it very well. I like your hands a great deal. I like how they look and, hmm, I like how they hold things I've made. It's good to kit you out." Loopy, indeed. He's not even complaining that Bond is destructive towards his beloved gadgets and guns.

"And when you say 'take me up on it later', I, ah..."

[heroichearts]

"I'll be sure to poke fun at your enjoyment of my hands later." Get them a bit more back on track before Q says something he may regret in the morning. "And so little of what I get kitted out with survives my outings. It's a failing of mine, I'll admit."

[wetware]

"You should be ashamed." His eyes drift shut, but he's still talking, "Although, if you do think you can bring something back, let me know so I can adjust my betting accordingly."

QBs need their joy where they can find it.

"...but, hmm, bed. Yes. I am going to sleep and ...and I am probably going to need your help tomorrow morning." It's always the day after that it hurts the worst.

[heroichearts]

"Then I'll stay the night and help you in the morning. I'll be out here on the couch, unless you're planning on drifting off right in my lap."

Maybe there's a smidge of softness that bleeds through. Clearly that could be Q's, though. Obviously.

[wetware]

"I could, but I'd be even more sore. And I will not force you to take the sofa. I have something like manners." Slowly, gingerly, and making little sore sounds, he sits up.

"I'll keep my hands to myself and steal all the covers." Definitely Q's softness. He wants to keep Bond's hands on him, to know that he's close, and safe. "And you're a good cushion."

[heroichearts]

"Should I carry you to bed like a fair maiden?" He laughs, but, y'know, he would, if asked. Just putting that out there. "Good to know I'm actually comfortable, I suppose. I'll take it as a compliment."

[wetware]

"I can walk." Q puts the hotpack aside and using Bond as a support, stands up and slowly gets himself ready for bed. "If you're not tired, by all means, stay up. There's books and whatever else and...and I can brush my teeth by myself."

"...I can put out the sweatpants for you?" Unhelpful brat.

[heroichearts]

"I'm sure you can. Don't worry about it, Q. You go get comfortable, and I'll go be the perfect gentleman."

[wetware]

"Perfect gentleman? Don't strain something." Even in another room, little fluttery, flickery thoughts drift from his mind: he thinks about having a shower tomorrow, about Bond sleeping on the sofa, or in his bed, about the coffee he'll have tomorrow. Sudden flickers of anger and terror as he remembers the fight.

Shortly after he comes out of the bathroom, he looks towards the sofa and then rummages in a closet until he can find and throw the dreaded sweatpants. Tough. You can't sleep in your suit, Bond.

[heroichearts]

He could sleep in his underthings that are definitely not ridiculously patterned, but, sure, fine. Ex's sweats. From Bond's end, there's a flicker of...of something closed off but present. Not quite anger, but something dark. Possessive? Something along those lines.

He changes. The sweats fit, more or less. He does not know how to feel about that, or how to feel about the fact that he doesn't know how to feel about that. Better to just not feel, then.

All right. Fine then. Bed it is. But only because the brief views of Q's terror make him want to protect him from...what, from the boogeyman? From bad dreams, bad memories, maybe. If he can.

[wetware]

Possessive? If that's the case, it makes Q squirm a little and want to really get a good look at Bond. He ...wants and that thrums through their connection clearly before it's smothered under a less than perfect barrier.

But, yes, bed. Sleeping. He'll be out quickly, but painkillers always give him strange, intense dreams. Images of fear, excitement, a long hospital stay, sleeping in a tent, the sound of his voice talking to agents on missions.

[heroichearts]

Well, he can't protect Q from dreams, but the glances he gets are interesting. Can't help but think, though, that they're not for him. None of it's for him. It's...a bit wrong. Natural in people, in people that aren't agents, that aren't 00s, that aren't in the business of attachment. He shouldn't have this. Can't.

But he does. His sleep doesn't come nearly as easily, but he does sleep. And keeps his hands to himself the whole time, even though that's clearly not quite the case with Q.

[wetware]

Sorry, Bond. Q tries to keep himself to himself, but he's a starfish when he sleeps. At least if he's curled up against him, there's a better chance James will have some access to a blanket.

They don't have to have anything. They can ignore it. Refuse to talk about it. Try to build up barriers and walls. No one needs to know and Q certainly won't tell. After all, he's kept quiet about it for some time now.

Come morning, Q is going to try and shower without help or support. He just knows that even if his painkillers have worn off (and they have), that whatever he'd be thinking about Bond would be too much to keep back. It's not fair or right to push that on the other man.

[heroichearts]

The offer's there, help if he needs it. That's what he's here for. Support. But let the man have his privacy and do what he can. Or...as much privacy as this...thing allows them. Doesn't mention the touch of dreams. Only mentions coffee, breakfast.

Which he will cook, because they're not having leftovers for breakfast like a couple of bachelors. Here if he's needed, but otherwise, breakfast hot and fresh with a morning dose of caffeine in a mug ready.

[wetware]

Q takes his time in the shower and by the time he limps his way down to breakfast, he's clearly sore in a wide variety of bruise-filled ways. He is also shamelessly wearing what might be the worst shorts known to mankind.

Judge him at your peril, Bond.

"I know medical told me to take a few days, but I haven't heard that confirmed from higher up." He's almost as bad at a DoubleO.

[heroichearts]

"No one's going to expect you back. Take time. You look like shit."

Does he mean the bruises or the shorts?

Yes.

"What can I do for you?"

[wetware]

"Good, because to be honest, I don't think I could sit at my desk all day. He got in a couple good hits around my ribs and, ah, well..." He gestures down at the scarring that travels up over his thigh and then disappears under the offending shorts. "Not wholly his fault, but I twisted it during my dignified floor-scrabbling."

"...and, you don't have to do anything. You made me coffee, that already puts you in my good books." Coffee first, then tea later in the day. "Is there anything I ought to do for you? We should talk about the thing we're not talking about, but I refuse to do that before breakfast."

[heroichearts]

"Nothing you ought to do, no, except actually rest. Don't pull a me, for god's sake."

Still judging the shorts. Go sit, eat, so they can stop offending him, clearly.

"And I'm keeping these sweats." Claiming them as his. Run that ex smell out of them. Make them his. Hm. Bit more possessive than he'd normally like, especially if it's going to filter over. So let's put that thought out of mind.

[wetware]

"Are you?"

Completely and utterly unbidden a single thought rings out, clear as day: thank goodness, you do fill them out far better than --.

Right. Drinking coffee. Looking away. Not blushing too much. Maybe some toast? He knows he has fruit that would be nice.

"I suppose they're fair payment for enduring my gently snoring in the night."

[heroichearts]

Oh, and he's amused. Don't need a connection for that given the playful smirk on his face. This might be bad for his ego, in that it might make it grow exponentially.

"You were fine. Quite cuddly. Apparently I make a fine body pillow."

[wetware]

"Good, good, glad I didn't say too much about the secret QBetting pools. Which you may or may not be allowed to enter in on, if you provide suitable food for the ravening horde."

Of all the things he could've spoken too much about, the staff betting pool is probably the least dangerous. They never bet on anything of real, substantive value: no bets on the outcome of missions, only on the return of equipment.

"And, I will have you know, that despite all appearances, I do enjoy the company of other people. Occasionally. On my own terms."

[heroichearts]

Bond tugs the band of the sweats. "I can see that."

But he furrows his brow for a moment, thinky thinking. Food. Thinking about food. Suitable food? A mountain of takeaway? Pizzas? Artisanally crafted charcuteries? "Not sure that I want to be passing myself off as one of the horde for some betting, but it's tempting."

[wetware]

"If something good comes up, I'll let you know." And, well, he's not going to talk about the sweatpants. Or his personal life. Unless he needs to.

He might want to, just a bit, to see Bond get riled up and possessive, but he doesn't need to. "I know I am not the easiest person to get along with, but some people manage."

"I am fully aware of the irony of that statement, given that I am sitting here just this side of black and blue."

[heroichearts]

"You should see the other guy." Granted, Bond did the black and blue part. The red was all Q and his tactical pen. "You did a good job managing on your own."

[wetware]

"I didn't think I'd be able to stop him, not really, just hold him off long enough that someone could help." Rationally, he'd expected the QBs to tase him, but in his heart of hearts, he suspects he might've called out.

"I suppose we can't say that you just happened to be walking down the hall and saw the problem."