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It was James’s stocking that finally broke Q, tears streaming down his face as he looked at the sage green stocking hanging over the fireplace, glowing from the light of the Christmas tree, with James’s name embroidered on it. It was hanging next to Q’s own red stocking, part of a matching set. But James wouldn’t need a stocking anymore…not after…
Q couldn’t bear to think of James’s mission, it had been gut-wrenching to live through it the first time. To hear James’s panicked voice on his com-unit over the sounds of gunfire (”Q, if I don’t make it out…remember I love you…”)
How was Q supposed to react to that? There should have been a million different things Q told James (“I love you too” being at the top of the list), but he had froze, unable to say anything.
Then, James was gone.
Q hadn’t wanted to believe it, this was James after all. Death wasn’t his style, he always came back.
But now it was Christmas Eve, and Q had to take James’s stocking down from the mantle.
The stocking felt heavier than it ought to from the treats Q had put into it, like the homemade toffee that had always been James’s guilty pleasure. Maybe the extra weight came from Q’s heart, which felt like lead in Q’s chest.
As tears clouded his vision, Q took the stocking and emptied it onto the coffee table. All of James’s favorites just like every year. Except it wasn’t anything like the years before, it would be the last time that stocking would be hung next to Q’s.
A raw sob escaped Q’s throat as he lay his head on the coffee table. He had never been one to believe in miracles, but if he could…god, if it were possible for him to have just one miracle…
Just one…that’s all he’d need.
When the doorbell rang, Q nearly let out a hysterical laugh. Timing could be one hell of a bitch sometimes. Wiping his eyes, Q stood, walking across the room to open the front door.
Of all the people he expected to see that dark Christmas Eve, James had not been one of them. Yes, he was who he wanted to see, but Q had accepted that James was dead.
So seeing 007 smiling softly down at him was perhaps the most surreal thing Q could have experienced. He almost couldn’t believe his eyes.
“My key doesn’t work,” James said weakly, holding up a house key, “You changed the locks.”
Q couldn’t help it, a laugh escaped him, “We change the locks every month…you taught me that…”
“I know…” James smiled softly, “I missed you.”
Q shook his head, grabbing James by his shirt and pulling him into a deep kiss. It was the kiss, more than anything else, that convinced Q that James was real, that he was really alive and in his arms. He could feel James’s powerful arms pick him up mid-kiss, which prompted Q to wrap his legs around James’s waist.
To feel James’s body against his own again, to feel his hard muscles against his soft flesh when he had fully expected to never know the comfort of James again…it was beautiful.
“James Bond,” Q whispered, biting at James’s ear, “You are going to take me right here, right now, before I delude myself into thinking this is nothing but an agonizing dream.”
James chuckled, laying Q on the floor next to the Christmas tree, “Of course, Quartermaster.” He smiled softly, the glow of the Christmas lights creating an array of shadows on his face, “You look so perfect,” He whispered, kissing Q softly, “Like a Christmas present.”
Q shook his head softly, “No James, you’re my Christmas present.”