Chapter Text
They didn’t really make a point of talking about it. As they’d dated, come to know one another, it became increasingly evident that Bond wanted children, eventually. He wasn’t especially reticent about that fact. He presented the idea to Q quite flatly, and the pair had discussed abstract ideas.
Q, initially, had truly not wanted children. Ever. He liked his job, he liked the routine. He liked the time spent with Bond. He was terrified about corrupting and ruining another human being’s life. He didn’t think he was anywhere near old or responsible enough to have a child.
Bond didn’t argue. He merely continued to nudge the idea, occasionally referencing it. Their relationship continued; they moved in, lived together a while, got married.
As time wore on Q found, to his distinct surprise, that he didn’t mind the idea as much as he used to. If he was quite honest, there was something immensely magic about starting a family with James. It would require adaptation on both their parts; Bond would have to scale back the life-shortening missions, Q would have to work less.
They made the decision without realising they had, and one evening, simply started discussing options without even addressing the rather momentous fact that they’d decided they were ready to start a family.
-
Bond was startlingly adamant that Q’s genes be involved. Really, the options were considerably narrower from that point on: they needed a surrogate, and an egg donor.
With vague sighs, they both started working through the absolutely monstrous quantities of paperwork required, Q muttering darkly about cheating the system.
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He did, in the end. Just to speed things up a little.
-
Their surrogate mother was named Elizabeth. Bond ended up being very close to her over the course of her nine-month pregnancy. It had been tricky, finding a surrogate close to them, somebody they were prepared to trust carrying what would be their child. As Q insistently pointed out, a great deal of development happened in vitro.
Liz was brilliant. She took both men in her stride, had a glorious sense of humour, and cooked truly amazing lasagne. It was the latter point that convinced Q that she was in fact, a good human being after all.
-
To the end of his life, Q would never forget seeing his child on the scans.
“Oh,” he murmured quietly. Bond’s hands sought his, Liz smiling widely as her gaze darted between the pair of them and the monitors. “It’s… beautiful. That’s our child. Jesus. Fuck, James, we’re having a baby.”
“Yes Q, well done,” Bond murmured, and kissed Q gently while the younger man watched the monitor blankly, mouth slack, eyes faintly glossy.
-
Labour. Bond blotted most of it out his brain. Screaming and blood and crying. Not a very popular environment, if he wanted to avoid flashbacks. He spent most of the event in the waiting room, pacing frenziedly while Q stayed with Liz.
Liz knew what they were, job-wise. She didn’t resent Bond’s absence in the slightest. Her main point of interest was ensuring that the child she had carried for nine months of her life would be safe, and loved.
A single look at either prospective parent confirmed that that would most definitely be the case.
-
“James.”
Bond threw himself into the room with all the force at his disposal. The air had a distinct tang of blood, but nothing he couldn’t deal with, not when he saw Q, cradling what looked to be a simple collection of blankets.
Liz was settled back against the pillows, looking utterly exhausted, smiling distantly at Q as he cradled the incomparably tiny thing in his arms. He looked up at James, eyes huge. “James, it’s a girl,” he whispered.
They had decided to not to find out the gender until the birth; Bond was a traditionalist, Q just liked the surprise. It didn’t matter, either way; as long as the child was healthy, nothing else mattered.
And she was. Quite entirely.
“May I?” Bond asked, extending his hands; his young partner nodded, a dazed, perfect smile lighting his face as he very gently handed the fragile bundle to Bond.
She was beautiful. Entirely beautiful. Bond couldn’t help the light gasp as he saw Q’s eyes, perfectly set within a stranger’s face. The same shape, angle, replicated. “We’re parents,” Q pointed out from next to him, seemingly in utter shock.
Bond kissed him, their newborn daughter’s form trapped between them. “Yes. Yes, we are,” Bond agreed, and smiled.