Chapter Text
It was a long day followed by another long day, and by the time the mission reaches its fiftieth hour, Q has not left the systems room once. The lights in Q Branch never dim. Screens glow constantly, bathing the room in cold blue light. Analysts rotate in shifts around the central command table, bringing fresh data, new satellite feeds, revised extraction paths. Even R takes a break at the thirty-six hour mark, but Q refuses. He stands at the command station with his headset on, eyes red from lack of sleep, directing 004 through the streets of Bangladesh. The mission had gone wrong almost immediately; the lead they had followed turned out to be a trap, and 004 was completely unprepared for how the situation had devolved.
For the last fifty hours Q has been guiding the agent through collapsing escape routes and hostile territory. Now multiple armed groups are converging on the same area, extraction windows shrinking faster than anyone predicted, hope thinning by the minute. From the moment the operation began to deteriorate, Q took over the mission personally.
Bond is there, of course. Whenever he is not on assignment, he finds himself in Q Branch now, never hovering too close, never interrupting, simply making sure Q remembers to take care of himself. He had returned from a mission somewhere in the Middle East and was still recuperating while waiting for the next deployment. He had been present when the situation with 004 first spiraled and had watched with quiet admiration as Q navigated the chaos. But Bond also knows what a doomed mission looks like, and the longer it stretches on, the more worried he becomes.
“004, hold position. There is nowhere safe to move yet. Med-evac team is on their way,” Q says into the comms, his voice calm despite the tension rippling through the room. He is clearing routes remotely for the evacuation team when something catches his attention.
“004, thermal sweep shows two hostiles approaching from your east corridor.”
On the screen below, the small digital marker representing 004 shifts slightly. Gunfire crackles faintly through the audio feed.
“Clear,” 004 breathes after a moment.
“Good,” Q replies immediately. “Now move twenty meters north. There’s a service stairwell that should bypass the lower patrol routes. The team will meet you there.”
Bond watches Q’s fingers move across the keyboard—fast and precise, every calculation processed before anyone else even finishes presenting the data. He has seen Q handle missions like this before, but something is different today. Nothing is actually going in 004’s favor.
Bond knows that if Q could fight fate itself, he would try.
But there is tension in Q’s shoulders, a tightness around his eyes that has nothing to do with exhaustion. This mission has been running for more than seventy hours now, and Q has been at the console for almost fifty-six of them.
At hour sixty, everything goes wrong.
004 had been hiding at the rendezvous point when Q’s entire screen suddenly erupts with proximity alerts. It happens fast.
“004, be alert. You are no longer alone,” Q says, his voice still steady, though his hands tremble almost imperceptibly. Bond notices—of course he does—but before he can react—
A shot cracks through the comms. Then another.
004 gasps sharply. “Th-thanks for the heads up, Q.” His voice sounds almost amused, but the humor comes through clenched teeth.
The entire room freezes.
“004?” Q says instantly. “Oliver, are you shot?”
He uses the man’s name without thinking. Somewhere deep in his mind Q already knows the odds have become catastrophic. The med-evac team is still nearly an hour away. A strange, absurd thought flashes through his mind—that roads should be designed to shorten travel time, not lengthen it—but he forces himself to focus, waiting for the reply.
For a moment there is nothing.
Then a strained voice breaks through the comms.
“Just a little.”
Bond feels the shift ripple through Q Branch like a shockwave. Everyone in the room knows what that means.
“004… there are approximately eleven hostiles near your location,” Q says, forcing his voice to remain calm. “Med-evac team is on the way. Stay with me, 004. I’m rerouting surveillance now.”
By the time M quietly arrives in Q Branch, the situation is already collapsing. Q is leaning forward over the console, knuckles white against the desk, his entire body rigid as he urges 004 not to lose consciousness.
“Tell me something, won’t you, Q,” 004 says suddenly, his voice still trying for lightness but breaking into ragged breaths.
“What is it, Oliver?” Q asks.
Bond understands something then—perhaps something he should have understood long ago. What makes Q who he is is not his brilliance, or his precision, or even his stubbornness. It is his kindness. The depth of it. The way he carries everyone else’s survival like a personal responsibility. Bond feels a moment of sharp guilt then, remembering what his leaving must have done to a man like that. But this is not about him.
“Do you believe in life after death?” 004 asks.
The room goes completely silent. Even M stands motionless.
Q takes a breath. “I… honestly, Oliver, I don’t know. But I don’t think so.”
There is a soft choking sound through the comms.
“Then maybe this is it,” 004 whispers. “I hope it was worth it. I hope I was worth something.”
“Oliver, stop being stupid,” Q says sharply, panic leaking through his composure. “This is not like you. The med-evac team is almost there." It is a lie. Q knows it and somewhere he suspects Oliver knows it too.
“Just hold o—”
Before Q can finish the sentence, the monitor in front of him flatlines.
The room stops breathing.
The screens continue to glow.
M sits perfectly still. For a moment Bond thinks he might say something—but nothing comes.
Q slowly removes his headset and places it carefully on the table.
“Notify the family,” he says quietly.
His voice sounds exactly the same as always, but he looks as if he is somewhere very far away.
“Debrief when the recovery team returns,” he adds, turning to R. She nods silently.
Q gathers the mission files. “Everyone except skeleton crew finish your work and go home. It was a long mission. Get some rest.”
Then he walks to his office.
M watches him go with an unreadable expression before turning to the room. “You heard your Quartermaster. Go home.”
He leaves.
Bond waits exactly three seconds after M disappears before rushing to Q’s office—but the room is already empty.
Panic curls in his chest.
He runs to the garage and finds R. “Fastest car you can give me.”
She studies him for a moment, then tosses him a set of keys.
“A Jaguar F-Type,” Bond says, surprised.
“Q worked on her,” R replies simply.
That is all Bond needs to hear, within a minute he is on the road, speeding toward Q’s flat. He does not know if he will even find Q there, but he knows Q. If there is anywhere he would go, it would be home—to the quiet and the cats and the one place where he does not have to be Quartermaster.
When Bond arrives, rain has already begun to fall.
Q is standing outside the building, still on the pavement, satchel hanging from one shoulder. He is staring at the street as if he has forgotten how he got there.
Bond parks a short distance away so he does not startle him and approaches slowly.
“Q.”
Q doesn’t turn. “Go away, James.”
Bond ignores that and steps closer, for a moment neither of them speaks.
Then Q exhales, and something inside him finally cracks.
“I told him he would be fine,” he whispers. “I… I knew it wasn’t true. But I lied.” His voice shakes. “And you know what the worst part is? I called him stupid. He is—was—not stupid.”
He is trembling now, whether from rain or grief Bond cannot tell.
Bond sighs softly and slips his coat off, draping it around Q’s shoulders before rubbing his back in slow circles.
“You were trying to keep him calm.”
“I was lying,” Q almost shouts.
He turns then, and the expression on his face is raw in a way Bond has never seen before.
“I could see the numbers,” Q says hoarsely. “I knew the moment he was hit that the odds were catastrophic. But I kept telling him to hold on. I kept promising help was coming.”
Bond’s voice is quiet. “It was.”
“It was too late. You know that.”
Q presses a hand briefly over his eyes.
Bond steps closer.
“You stayed with him,” he says gently. “Oliver knew the risks of this job. All of us do. But the job still has to be done. Q… you make it easier. You make it possible for us to come home, but that doesn't take away from the dangers of the job. You tip the odds in our favour but sometimes it just doesn't workout, this doesn't take away from the fact that you have kept all of us safe for so long”
“I listened while he bled out,” Q replies miserably
For a moment the only sound between them is rain striking the pavement, because what is there to say.
Then Q’s shoulders begin to shake.
Bond reaches forward and pulls him into his arms, and it says everything about Q’s state that he does not resist. His hands clutch the front of Bond’s coat as the breakdown finally hits.
Minutes pass before his breathing begins to steady.
Bond simply holds him through it.
Eventually Q pulls back, clearly embarrassed.
“I’m sorry,” he mutters.
Bond shakes his head. “You have nothing to apologize for.”
Q studies him for a long moment. He has been doing that a lot lately.
“Why are you here?” he asks quietly.
“Because you needed someone,” Bond answers. “You’re always there for everyone, Q. Let me be here for you.”
The raw sincerity in Bond’s voice catches Q off guard.
He looks at him properly then, and for the first time in months the guarded distance in his eyes eases.
“Come on,” Bond says gently. “Let’s get you inside.”
“Thank you, James.”
Bond smiles softly. “I like it when you say my name.”
He presses a light kiss to Q’s forehead and places a steady hand at the small of his back, guiding him toward the gate.
Q lets him.
Maybe they will hold each other again.
Maybe the pain will feel smaller in James’s arms.
Maybe they will find their way back to what they once were—perhaps even something more.
Nothing is certain yet.
But for the first time in a long while, Q thinks that somehow… they might be alright.