Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The First Order was an elitist group, obsessed not only with wiping out the Jedi but also with racial purity - a tricky proposition when there was such a wide universe of species to contend with.  Sometimes, though, someone would slip through the cracks.  After all, if an orphan was promising, and they at least looked one-hundred percent human, then what was wrong with adding them to the ranks…?

Enter JB007.  Orphaned at the age of eleven.  Mother human.  Father mixed.  The paperwork got mixed up, though, so the fact that his father was one-fourth Shezarandi didn’t come to light until JB007 had already risen in the ranks and begun to show valuable skills.  So, when his impure bloodlines were discovered at age sixteen, a strategic blind eye was turned.  

MI6 had known all along.  

On record, Olivia Mansfield worked for the First Order.  She managed the Biomedical division, and a host of other random but surprisingly influential positions that no one was probably aware of.  Off the record, Olivia Mansfield went by the simple title of M, and ran MI6 - a tiny spot of cancer at the heart of the First Order.  She found JB007 the same day his colony was attacked and he was drafted into the Stormtrooper program, and doctored his files so that he’d be unnoticed, invisible.  Just more fodder in the First Order’s army.  In the meanwhile, M watched the boy closely, and checked to be sure that he had only a small fraction of Shezarandi blood in him - full-blood Shezarands were a handful, and anyone with over half tended to self-destruct while still in their teens.  

JB007 must have had just enough, because he became a terror of his age-group, but somehow managed to get out of all the trouble he got himself into.  

At age fourteen, M met him personally, and told the serious, grim, blue-eyed boy, “Your name is James Bond now.”

“You’re giving me a name?” JB007 asked quietly.  His eyes were too old for the rest of him; most of the First Orders child recruits were orphaned at a younger age, but M had no doubt that this boy remembered everything.  That made him useful.  That made him dangerous.  

“Yes.  I’ll even let you keep that name, if you can show me you deserve it.”

The head of tawny hair had canted to one side, curious like a Zygerrian raptor.  “None of us have names.”

The fact that JB007 was able to differentiate between names and the designations given to child-recruits already showed M that this boy had enough brains to become what she wanted.  MI6 needed people who wouldn’t fold in dangerous situations - and who had enough sense to see past the First Order’s brainwashing.  “How do you know?  Maybe no one has told you their name,” she asked back.  They were sitting in the Medical wing.  JB007’s only negative qualities were that he got into fights a lot, even at this age, and had to be patched up frequently - it was convenient for M, though.  She went on, calm and serious, wondering if the boy was mirroring her or if she was mirroring him, “If you tell anyone this name, I’ll deny that I ever gave it to you.  Then you won’t have a name.  Do you understand?”

JB007… James… cocked his head the other way.  Almost impossibly pale blue eyes - the only thing that could conceivably point to his inhuman heritage - blinked once, a measured movement.  “I understand,” he said.

“Good.”  This was the first test; if the boy couldn’t keep a secret, then he was useless to her.  A liability instead of an asset.  The First Order disapproved of initiative and individuality in its Stormtroopers, and what M hadn’t mentioned was that JB007 would likely be terminated if he started sharing that he had an actual name - and if the First Order didn’t kill him, M herself was more than capable of arranging some sort of accident.  MI6 lived or died by its ability to remain unnoticed within the heart of the First Order.

Once he’d been treated, JB007 obediently got up, preparing to head back to his fellows for more training.  Before he left M’s side, however, he turned to face her, saying unhesitantly, “You can’t take my name away, you know.  You’ve already given it to me.  It’s mine now, even if you never say it again.”

Surprised, the older woman stared for a moment, then found herself fighting a smile.  She didn’t say anything to him, instead giving him a little push towards the door, which he acquiesced to without a fight.  M watched him go, secretly intrigued… and impressed.  

When James Bond managed to keep that secret - and then more secrets, and more and more and more, his loyalties switching over from the First Order to MI6 - M wasn’t in the least surprised.  

~^~

JB007.  Aged thirty-two by the First Order’s reckoning, and a survivor of more shit than he liked to think about on a daily basis.  It had earned him a lot of respect, and even some leeway amidst his cohort - because even if it was frowned on for someone to break formation and run off, JB007 was known for getting results when he flew solo.  His commanders blamed it on his ‘tainted heritage.’  All James cared was that his Shezarandi blood gave him a weirdly acute sense for danger, and while that made him a bit of a ‘troubleseeker,’ it also meant that he knew instinctively who the biggest, meanest opponent on the field was - and no one complained when he went right for them.  

To be fair, it didn’t always end well.  James couldn’t recall how often he’d ended up getting thrashed because he’d somehow managed to pick out the nastiest recruit and annoy them - of course, that had necessitated a steep learning curve, and James picked up fighting skills fast.  It had also allowed him to visit M regularly, and learn more and more about what the First Order didn’t want him to hear.  Like how they were proponents of mass killings.  Genocide.  Mostly, James just hated them because they killed Jedi.  

James also hated them because it was their fault that he’d lost his left arm.  M had told him to look at the bright side: she’d had some of her biotechs come in to do the replacement, so while the First Order had footed the bill, James had gotten a new arm that allowed him to bypass regular communications and feed information straight to M.  So as he was rising in the ranks of the First Order, he was also becoming a priceless MI6 spy.  

Now, though, he was disembarking right into a battlezone on Nik’ah’tenia, and espionage came second to survival.  

JB007 didn’t rank high enough to get mission specs, a fact that M was hounding him for; sadly, all James knew was that he was supposed to shoot anyone who looked dangerous, and that it was damn cold here for a planet that had two suns.  As he marched out of the flyer in his cohort’s wake, he shivered even within his suit, watching as more Stormtroopers in white armor disappeared into the blowing snow.  Trees reached up towards the twilight sky like sickly, burnt fingers, and the only light came from fires ahead.  So they’d already lit the village on fire then…

“JB007,” the words came through the comms, but James already knew where to turn his head; his commander was looking at him.  She nodded briskly, “Sweep the area.  You know what to do.”

“Yes, Commander,” James replied with obedience that he barely had anymore, but could fake reasonably well.  He’d had the potential for rebellion in him from before the death of his parents, and while the First Order would have crushed that spirit, M had fed it - sometimes, James fancied that she regretted that decision.  Fortunately, James had a highly functional survival instinct, and that meant doing as he was told so long as others were watching.  Right now, his commanding officer expected him to do what he did best: troubleseek.  

James broke formation, his rifle muzzle pointed at the ground but his hands cradling the weapon competently.  If there was something lying in wait, something hidden with the potential to turn the tide against the First Order - he’d sense it.  It was hard to describe, something that James simply did without thinking, and he hated to admit that he only understood it about as well as he had when he was five.  He knew that he was like a moth to a flame when it came to danger, but the problem was, the flame was invisible, and he didn’t always know he was headed towards it until he felt the burning.  

Last time that had happened, he’d walked right into a Shugrue battlemaster, and he’d nearly lost his other arm before he’d realized that the slim, five-foot-tall alien was actually dangerous.  This was why M’s hair had turned grey, she claimed.  

Determined not to have a repeat performance of that fiasco, James focused more closely on that little troubleseeking part of himself.  Sometimes he could feel it, like an addictive vibrato in his veins, like the dance of metal shavings when a magnet drew near.  Usually, by the time it became pronounced enough for him to identify the feeling, he was in the thick of a fight, and all he could feel was the heady kick of adrenaline.  Now, though…  He caught it, just the faintest of sensations.  Oddly enough, instead of leading him towards the chaos of the fight itself, it seemed to be calling to him from the snow-carpeted woods.  

Curious now despite himself, James set off at a lope, noticing before long that other footprints had preceded him this way - some were Stormtrooper boots like his, but when James paused and looked more closely, he saw another set of bootprints nearly obscured beneath the more familiar tracks.  He wasn’t alone in his hunting, then.  

At first, that left James hopeful that he’d have back-up, because for all that he was rather literally addicted to trouble, he recognized that he had a higher chance of surviving if he had allies nearby.  However, as James left the fighting and fire further and further behind - a destructive red glow in the distance - he soon came upon bodies.  The fresh corpses of Stormtroopers.  Frowning grimly behind his helmet, James paused again, briefly looking over the first corpse and then the second.  His training by the First Order had made him an efficient soldier, but M’s personal training had made him even colder and more analytical, so he prodded and investigated without any squeamishness to speak of.  What he found made him lower his weapon, freeing up both of his arms so that he could skin off both of his gloves and then his helm.  The frigid air immediately bit into his skin, but it took a skin-on-bioskin contact to activate the private comm-link to M.  James pressed the fingers of his right hand to his left wrist, finding the right spots out of much practice.  “M?” he spoke the words close to his palm, the receiver hidden beneath the lifelike fleshcoat.  

“007,” her voice came back after just a brief pause, indicating that she’d been waiting for him to make contact.  She had to work as hard as anyone else to maintain her cover, but when James was on a mission, she tried to be the one handling the secret comms.  The fact that she was using his shortened designation instead of the name she’d given him so long ago meant that she was in a tense mood.  “What is it?  Report.”

“I’m still not entirely sure why we’re here,” he said, the wind ruffling his hair with icy fingers and whisking the white cloud of his breath away, “but I’m starting to have my suspicions.”

“Explain,” M demanded, curt as always.  He could tell that she was interested, however.  James never reported back frivolously; if anything, he didn’t report back near often enough.  He tended to find reports, in general, irksome.  

James heard a twig snap before he could explain the cauterized wounds that he was seeing.  Without his helmet, he didn’t have night-vision, and if trouble came, he didn’t want to grab his gun with bare hands - because at this temperature, he’d probably end up with his skin freezing to the weapon.  “Standby,” he grunted briefly, and didn’t wait for any sort of reply before breaking the connection and dragging his gloves back on again.  His helmet quickly followed, giving him augmented vision that painted the snowy forest around him in eerily colorless (but precise) outlines.  He focused on the direction that he’d heard the sound coming from, and immediately felt that eager thrum in his veins, that tiny part of him that called out for trouble… and would probably get him killed one of these days.  

There was still one set of footprints leading off into the snow, and now there were dark splashes joining them - blood.  On the whole, James found most of his fellow Stormtroopers to be abysmal fighters, but apparently one of them had hit the mark, injuring their prey.  Staying alert, feeling his entire world sharpening with each beat of his heart, James eased forward, following the prints and the blood.  He picked up speed as noticed the latter growing more frequent, and the former growing less regimented - whoever he was following, they were bleeding more, and walking less steadily.  James’s ‘troubleseeker’ sense, however, told him that the danger hadn’t waned.

Therefore, James was in for a bit of a surprise when he trotted into a small, almost picturesque clearing and saw a singularly unthreatening figure sitting in the snow.

Time and again, James had been taught not to judge opponents on their first appearance, but he had a bad habit of it anyway - as with now, as he took in the injured person he’d been stalking.  So far as he could tell, the fellow was human, with a wild mop of black hair and boyish features.  The rest of him was hidden beneath clothing: long dark sleeves that hid everything but his long pale fingers, a half-cloak that bunched around his neck and swathed his shoulders.  His shirt was belted at the waist like a tunic, and his trousers were wrapped at the ankles, in the fashion of most Nik’ah’tenian colonists, but right above one soft boot his leg was all blood, the result of a scathing rifle-blast.  

As the young man looked up and saw James, his expression was one of wide-eyed fear, and he looked like nothing so much as a young, trapped animal huddled where he’d fallen in the snow.  

And then he yanked a metal cylinder from a pouch at his belt, and a beam of blue light sprang forth with a telltale hum.  A lightsaber.

“Damn,” James muttered in the confines of his helm.  

While the First Order had a lot of plans for the universe, and quite a few items on its grocery list of conquest, its biggest goal was the elimination of the Jedi.  They’d already all but succeeded when James was still a child, and even since his entrance in the First Order twenty-one years ago, James had only heard tell of four other Jedi.  They were a dying breed, near extinction.  The fact that this one was still alive, and so young, meant that he had to be new - but James was willing to bet his life on the fact that this entire attack on Nik’ah’tenia had been to kill this one young Jedi.  

By the way the black-haired youth was struggling to his feet, saber held out in front of him in a desperate, two-handed grip, he was well aware of that fact himself.  What he was not aware of, however, was that James had other orders.

Very carefully, James transferred his rifle to one hand, lifting both of his arms up in a universal gesture of peace.  “Easy,” he said, not liking the lightsaber’s dangerous hum even as his own troubleseeker sense started humming gleefully back.  James told it to shut up, before it got him killed.  “I’m not going to hurt you.”

“Like hell you’re not,” the Jedi spat back, proving that he at least spoke Commons, and that he had a bit more fire in him than initially suspected: he tried to lunge forward.  ‘Tried’ was the operative word, however, as he stumbled on his bad leg; his saber cut a deep, hissing swatch in the snow as the youth gave it a threatening swing.  

James watched the movement, eyes calculating.  He’d met Jedi before.  This one didn’t know what he was doing yet; he was just a pup.  

James, on the other hand, was strenuously trained in just about every weapon in existence, and it was starting to look like he’d have to use that training.  

He tried for a peaceful resolution one last time, even though he’d already pretty much given up on that plan.  Knowing that the robotic voice could be intimidating, he took off his helmet, once again feeling the cold against his cheeks and seeing the world in muted, twilight colors.  The snow seemed almost to glow, and the Jedi’s hair seemed all the blacker by contrast.  “Look, I mean it - I’m not here-”

“To hurt me?” was the sharp response, as the Jedi scrambled to regain his balance.  He was standing now, more or less, even if he had to keep one hand out for balance and the other hand held his lightsaber uncertainly.  James watched the glowing blade carefully.  “Oh, just like those other two Stormtroopers weren’t here to hurt me?  Is that it?” the young man went on caustically.  

James eased a few steps forward in the snow, putting his rifle down carefully.  “I’m not actually with them.  Not quite,” he said.

Unfortunately, the young Jedi wasn’t buying it, and the second James started straightening, the dark-haired youth lunged at him.  Bond reevaluated his initial assumption - that the Jedi was too injured to move much - as he found himself dodging a blade of whirring blue light.  James managed to duck down, grab his rifle again, and swing it up just in time to get the weapon sliced cleanly in half.  “Fuck,” James found himself swearing again, this time without a helmet to muffle his words - or protect his head, although against an active lightsaber, it really didn’t make much difference.  James managed to avoid the same fate as his rifle, and rolled further out of reach.  

The problem was, without a weapon, that put him at a distinct disadvantage.  Thankfully, James had been fighting at a disadvantage ever since he was a child, and his genetic tendencies kept telling him to step on the toes of kids bigger than him.  Quickly assessing the situation, James charged back into the fray, diving into a skidding roll across the snow as the Jedi tried to skewer him along the way.  The blond-haired man didn’t immediately regain his feet, instead rolling onto his back even as the Jedi struggled to turn after him - before the Jedi could make it all the way around to strike at him again, James kicked out, his boot firmly catching the younger man’s injured leg.  The Jedi crumpled with a high-pitched yelp, and the lightsaber went out.  

Knowing that he’d have to end this quickly - both for his own sake and for the Jedi’s, because eventually someone else would follow the tracks in the snow - James rolled onto his knees.  He was already planning ahead, figuring out what he was going to do, but he needed to immobilize this damn Jedi first, hopefully without hurting the youth any more than he already was.  MI6 was against the First Order in a lot of ways, but the most strident difference in ideology had to do with Jedis: M and her chosen spies wanted to save them.  

That had been what had ultimately gotten James to side with them, actually.  

When his parents had died, he’d been old enough to remember a lot of things: his parents, his home.  A name before JB007.  A name before James Bond.  Jedis.  

Unfortunately, this dark-haired little sod didn’t seem ready to listen to James’s reassurances of his safety, and just as James was reaching down for him, the younger man twisted onto his back and reached upwards with a desperate hand.  James immediately felt an invisible fist lock around his throat, forcing his head back and squeezing his windpipe closed.

Something hot and angry boiled up in James, something that had boiled up in that eleven-year-old boy when his house had been burning.  He should have died with his parents - he’d sensed the danger coming, and like the troubleseeker that he was, he’d run right for it, just like he always did.  When their colony had been attacked - by the fucking First Order - James had ended up pinned in the burning wreckage of his own home.  What had kept him alive then, and every day since then, was that James’s will to survive burned hotter than any fire that had ever tried to burn the life out of him.

So now, as he felt the Jedi’s desperate but inexperienced use of the Force latch around his throat, James snarled and ignored the spots dancing in front of his vision.  He was stuck on his knees, choking to death, the Jedi trying to push him further away - the Jedi’s other hand was scrambling in the snow for his saber, and James saw the second the Jedi found it.  Even if he hadn’t, he heard the hum of it turning on again.  Baring his teeth more fiercely, James jerked his body, testing and feeling how the Force around his throat wasn’t perfect.  He remembered the blood in the snow, the look of inexperience and fear on the Jedi’s face and he could all but feel the way that the Jedi was struggling against James’s greater weight.  

Consciousness fading, James closed his eyes and focused on that hum in his veins…

Without having to look, he felt it when the lightsaber was swung his way, and James chose then to heave himself forward with all of his weight.  It nearly crushed his windpipe to do it, but it surprised the Jedi, and it also threw off his aim - enough so that James’s hand latched onto the Jedi’s wrist, halting the saber before it could slice him in half.  

The Jedi was clearly surprised, because his use of the Force wavered and finally crumpled.  The surprise wasn’t over, though: James’s grab had been sloppy, and while he’d avoided an untimely death, the lightsaber had bitten into his arm with a hissing snarl.  When James didn’t react in the slightest, however - because it was his left arm, his synthetic arm, which had only the most basic nerve responses - the Jedi’s eyes widened nearly to the point of popping out of his head.  James, still choking and trying to breath, took swift advantage of that and wrenched the lightsaber out of the Jedi’s grip.  It went out once again, and when it looked like the Jedi would try to use the Force to drag it back, James coughed out a growl that might have translated to “Oh, no you don’t” and dislocated the Jedi’s right arm.

Did he feel like a bastard for doing it?  Yes.

Did he also feel like it was fucking necessary?  Yes.  In fact, James felt a certain amount of grim satisfaction as he forcefully ignored the Jedi’s cry of pain - dragged in a wheezing but full breath - and then lashed out with a precise punch to the Jedi’s chin.  The younger man fell limp, unconscious.  

James, hovering over the dark-haired youth by this point, sagged forward onto hands and knees.  His breath ricocheted off a flushed cheek, but the Jedi was well and truly out cold.  “Bloody,” Bond panted, “buggering… fuck…”  Looking around, he took stock, seeing his cleaved rifle, the blood trail in the snow, the dormant lightsaber just barely sticking out of that same snow, and his own arm, serviceable but with a new, melted furrow across his bicep.  

Tech like the kind that had gone into James’s arm didn’t come cheap.  M was going to kill him.  

“Not if I come home with a Jedi,” he rasped to himself, pushing himself belatedly to his knees again.  After a quick look, he judged that the only life-threatening injury was the Jedi’s leg, something he could solve quickly.  The dislocated arm could and would wait.  

Having torn strips from the Jedi’s cowl to field-bandage his bleeding calf, James heaved his unconscious quarry up onto his shoulders.  Taking a deep breath, he looked back the way he came.  

“Time to steal a First Order ship,” he sighed to himself, already feeling that buzz of impending trouble starting up in his limbs again.  Moving determinedly through the snow, movements swift and steady despite his load, James prepared to do something that would most certainly out him as a turncoat.  

But it would probably save one of the last Jedi, so it would be worth it.  

~^~

James’ cohort had arrived on a nameless ship designed for nothing more or less than ferrying Stormtroopers around like cargo.  It was unwieldy, it was slow, and it was most certainly not a ship worth stealing.  His commander’s ship, however…

Rank afforded one certain privileges, such as the privilege of having a small ship, so as not to travel with the common rabble.  Bond, being of mixed heritage, would never be promoted and therefore never receive his own ship - however, his skills had qualified him for the training, if not the promotion.  In short, James actually had equal (if not superior) field experience and skills to his commander, and therefore could fly ships.  And thanks to the upgrade he’d had on his left arm, he could also break into and hijack ships even if they weren’t registered to him.  His commander's ship, the Regial, for example.

It sounded like the fighting was almost over, but James could still feel an itch between his shoulder-blades every time he looked out from the trees and towards the fading sounds of fire and weapons-fire.  There was still danger there, and he felt its tug like an addiction.  Instead of going, however, he lowered the captured Jedi to the ground and hurriedly removed the youth’s belt to serve as a restraint.  Hacking into the Regial would only take moments, but he’d feel awfully stupid if the Jedi woke up and tried to scarper during that time.  Even with one dislocated arm and a bum leg, the Jedi would manage to get into some sort of trouble, James strongly suspected.  So, after binding the young man’s hands behind his back, James also found the edge of the Jedi’s cowl, where it served as a loose hood.  James pulled it forward over the Jedi’s head and knotted it in place for good measure.  Even if the Jedi decided to try and hop away, he wouldn’t get very far blind.  One of James’s childhood memories was of owning a hunting hawk, and learning that it took comfort from being hooded (or, at the least, didn’t try to fly off).  James wasn’t sure how similar Jedis were to Zygerrian hunting hawks, but he figured it couldn’t hurt.

Leaving the Jedi trussed up at the edge of the trees, James fixed his eyes on the Regial, ran over his plan once more in his head, and then bolted into action.  He’d recovered his helmet and gloves, and therefore could hear the background chatter of general orders being relayed through the comms (reminding him that he’d have to contact M eventually, to clue her in), and while no one seemed to be looking specifically for him yet, he knew he had a limited amount of time before Stormtroopers started returning.  It was child’s-play to get past the skeleton crew standing guard around the ships.  Pressing himself up against the Regial’s landing gear, James skinned off his left glove, once again baring his robotic hand.  When he flexed it, the hand and fingers looks as real as anyone’s, unless he looked further up his arm to see the melted metal where the lightsaber had caught him.  James grimaced behind his helmet, then pressed his hand flush to the electronic lock-pad by the ship’s door.  The Regial was high-tech, which was just the way James liked it.  There was a faint tingling sensation - one of the limited sensations that he still had in that limb - and after a few heartbeats, the lock gave way, tricked by the tech imbedded in James’s hand.  Computers weren’t exactly James’s favorite toys to play with, but he had enough cheat-codes that he could make quite a menace of himself when he wanted to.  Like now.  

As expected, the Commander’s copilot had stayed behind to watch the ship.  The little, balding man was startled to see that it wasn’t actually his superior boarding - James didn’t give him much time to worry about it, however,  One swift charge and two well-placed punches were all it took to drop the copilot.  James relieved the other man of his weapons, then dragged the copilot out and dropped him in the slurried snow.  “So much for my promising career in the First Order,” James sighed to himself, noting that there was no turning back now.  No one had seen his face, but it wouldn’t take much to deduce that it was JB007 who had mysteriously disappeared at the same time the Regial was stolen.

No alarms had been sounded by the time James trotted back to the Jedi, however - who was, thankfully, still unconscious.  James gathered him up carefully, suddenly aware that this was one of the most precious things he’d ever held before: Jedi were nearly extinct, and the universe couldn’t afford to lose any more.  Already, James was feeling a bit bad for injuring the fellow, although he logically knew that he hadn’t had much choice.  

Deciding to be pragmatic and callous now, and save the gentleness for when he could afford it, James hauled his cargo back to the Regial with all speed.  This time, he had a feeling that someone spotted him, but no one was too suspicious of the Stormtrooper uniform - meaning James was onboard and closing up the hatch before anyone could stop him.  Like all things made by the First Order, the inside of the Regial was almost clinical looking, everything geometric and white, but at least some thought had been spared for comfort: there was a bench to the back of the main cabin, presumably for either sleeping or carrying wounded.  Either way, it served as a good place to set the Jedi down, positioning the young man on his side and finding the appropriate straps to tie him down.  James patted the Jedi’s hooded head, saying with a tone that was part regret… part growing excitement, “This might get a bit bumpy.”  

Now James was beginning to hear shouting in the comms.  He mostly ignored it, realizing that he was probably never going to report in to the First Order ever again; the only reason he hadn’t removed the stifling helm entirely was because it allowed him to listen in on the orders being given.  Right now, those orders weren’t quite that interesting, but they would be in a moment.  

James buckled himself into the pilot’s seat and, after a moment to refamiliarize himself with the system, powered up the Regial.  She whined as if she knew this wasn’t her real master, but gave in and began her take-off sequence as James continued to flick switches and turn dials, the exercise beaten into him by the First Order and M both.  M had always said that he’d need this skill - he wondered if she’d somehow foreseen that he’d end up on the run with a Jedi pup.  

Orders were coming through both the comms in his helmet and directly to the Regial, but James just smiled and turned the engines on, relishing the muffled roar as they scorched the snowy earth in a totally unnecessary manner.  “This is for never promoting me, you purist arseholes,” he growled, even as the Regial shook free of gravity and rose up like a big metal leaf caught in its own roaring wind.

No one had figured out that JB007 was flying the Regial yet, but word was spreading quickly now that one of their ships was taking off without permission.  That would become an issue eventually, because each First Order ship was connected - they could be tracked, and sometimes even remotely controlled.  Thankfully, James had a few tricks literally up his sleeve, so while he manned the joystick with one hand, he pressed his left palm against one of the touchscreens and once again felt the tingle of connection.  The biotech link was just about the most elegant piece of gadgetry that he’d ever witnessed, and he barely even knew how it worked - but it was intuitive enough that he could use it to hijack just about anything with just a thought.  To his knowledge, it worked on two levels: decryption software that let him break into anything, and more destructive viruses that scrambled systems that might work against him.  He just had to hope he didn’t destroy the Regial’s entire computer system instead of just deflecting any attempts by the First Order to stop them.  

When the ship neither crashed nor powered down without warning, James grinned fiercely and turned his attention back to flying.  

The Regial was a fast ship.  While most of the ships that had landed on Nik’ah’tenia were purely cargo vessels, made for carrying Stormtroopers and little more, the Regial was a fighter.  She was no warship by any means, but she was designed so that she could put up a fight - and move if she had to.  James half-wished that he’d had an ally with him, so that one of them could have given the Regial’s guns a test.  Being on the run should have terrified him, but James couldn’t feel anything but a burgeoning elation that felt a lot like his ‘troubleseeker’ sense - but increased tenfold.  That either meant he was about to embark on the most dangerous mission of his life, or he’d finally lost his ability to be scared.

~^~

Chapter Text

There had been pursuit, but James had gotten a headstart and wasn’t afraid to fly fast.  That, combined with his innate ability to sense and judge the danger of the situation,  meant that it hadn’t been long before he’d lost his tails in a solar storm.  Usually, James’s troubleseeker-sense just got him into trouble, but the fact that he wasn’t dead yet proved that he really was quite good at judging when situations were dangerous, but not necessarily deadly.  Everyone else had apparently taken one look at the solar storm and thought he was suicidally insane, because they hadn’t followed.  Tentatively, James planned to hide within the storm as long as possible, because it also drove the sensors mad - so he no longer had to use MI6’s tech to scramble any First Order signals.  So far, no one had managed to remotely take command of the Regial, and James’s brute meddling hadn’t blown any fuses, but he didn’t want to push his luck if he didn’t have to.  Besides his general worries about damaging his own ship, James was beginning to worry about the damage already done - to his own arm.  He’d tried to contact M again, but this time had gotten only static, and the lightsaber-made wound on his upper arm had buzzed and crackled with severed connections.  

With the Regial on autopilot and doing admirably well at fighting the constant turbulence, James got up to belatedly check on his shipmate.  

The Jedi had been discreetly struggling against the straps and buckles for about fifteen minutes now, no doubt trying to be quiet about it.  Even with his focus on the storm and on not getting caught, James had heard a few stifled whimpers of pain, though.  James belatedly realized that he hadn’t put the youth’s shoulder back in place yet, to say nothing for the rifle-graze on the Jedi’s right leg.  

Instead of saying something comforting, however, what came out of James’s mouth was a candid, “It’ll hurt less if you stop wriggling.”

The Jedi froze, his head twisting beneath the hood.  “Who are you and what do you want?” the young man demanded in an admirably stern voice for someone trussed up and blinded.  James was impressed despite himself at the moxie on display.  

“Bond. James Bond,” he introduced, sitting down on the edge of the padded bench so that he could get a good look at the Jedi’s leg - still the most immediately dangerous injury, despite James’s field-dressing.  “And if you use the Force on me again, I’m going to truss you up so tightly you won’t be able to move.”  James lightened his voice markedly, adding blithely, “Other than that, you could call me an ally.”

The Jedi’s head was angled slightly towards him, but James had already judged that the material was too thick to see through.  He was proven right when he touched the Jedi’s ankle, and the young man startled so hard that the straps over his body groaned.  “Easy, easy,” James soothed, “One of my compatriots did a number on your leg, and I haven’t really gotten a good look at it yet.”

“So you are a Stormtrooper,” the Jedi accused, in a tone that said this title negated James’s earlier suggestion of being an ally.  

“JB007,” James admitted without rancor.  Most of his focus was on the leg in front of him, as he began undoing the bandages.  When he’d disarmed the copilot, he’d also requisitioned a small knife from the man, and used it to cut away the Jedi’s trouser leg a bit, too.  “But I don’t think that I’ll be going by that designation again,” he finished ruefully.  At the same time, however, he felt something blossoming warmly in his chest… something that might have been elation at a newfound freedom.  

For a second, the Jedi was silent, perhaps because it took effort not to make sounds of pain as the bandages were peeled back from torn skin.  After a moment, though, he proved that he was still part of the conversation: “Stormtroopers don’t have names.”

“Good ones don’t,” James agreed with amendment, just to see what the Jedi would make of that.  When no answer was immediately forthcoming, however, James broke the sullen silence to ask in a more coaxing tone, “What’s your name?”  When he didn’t get an answer and the quiet in fact got more sullen, James felt the need to add, “If you don’t give me something to call you, then I’m probably going to name you after my childhood pet.  She was a Zygerrian hunting hawk, and looked sort of like you do right now, in a hood.”  

At that moment, a bit of turbulence gave the ship a real shaking, and the Jedi cried out and tried to curl his body in on itself.  James steadied the young man with a hand on his hip, observing grimly, “She took to flying a bit better than you do.”

“I like flying just fine,” the other man snapped, “when the ship doesn’t feel like it’s being shaken apart in something’s mouth!  Where the hell did you fly us?”

“Into a solar storm?”

The Jedi froze.  “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

“It was that or get run down by the First Order,” James shrugged, “Now do you believe that I’m on your side?”

“No,” was the grumpy grumble.  

Huffing and turning his attention to finding a first-aid kit - an easy task, as he knew the Regial’s layout from training - James tried, “Can you at least give me something to call you?  I was serious about the hawk’s name, but I don’t think you want to be called Scorpi.”

“Scorpi?”  The Jedi sounded almost adorably affronted, and James fought the urge to laugh.  

He’d found the first-aid kit exactly where he’d expected, and came back now to resume his seat.  “Short for ‘scorpion.’  I assume you know what-?”

“You named your bird,” the Jedi deadpanned, unimpressed, “after an insect?”

“Well, to be fair, the versions of scorpions that I grew up with were nearly as long as your arm, and capable of flying,” James took up the tale easily, using it as a distraction as he took out a short wand from the kit - a sterilizing tool.  He knew from experience that it stung a bit.  “My mother had actually wanted to get me one of those as a pet, but my father talked her out of it.  Zygerrian hawks were more expensive to import, but apparently less dangerous for a young boy to train.”

The young Jedi did indeed flinch as the cleaning process began, but James had a strong hand on his ankle, and the Jedi quieted after the initial jerk.  He must have recognized the sensation.  Perhaps that same realization (that James really was helping him rather than needlessly hurting him) was what got him to grudgingly reply a moment later, “Fine.  You can call me Q.”

“Q?  As in the letter?”  Bond actually knew multiple alphabets, but as they were talking in Commons, he made an educated guess.

Proving him right, the Jedi - Q - snipped back, “You gave me an alphanumeric designation - so I’m giving you a letter.  Fair is fair.”

It really didn’t sound all that fair, but James found himself smirking anyway.  “Q it is then.  If I take your hood off, will you try anything?”

For a moment, Q’s body language said that he’d shoot back something belligerent - James could see the way his body tightened and his head reared back archly beneath the fabric - but then he winced again, and seemed to deflate.  Dislocated shoulders and grazed legs could do that to a person.  “No,” he eventually sighed.  

“Let me finish patching up your leg first,” James said, not unkindly.  In fact, on impulse, he spared a moment to reach back with one hand and give the Jedi’s head a soothing stroke through the hood.  The touch took Q by the surprise, but when James also said, gently enough, “Just sit tight,” the Jedi actually relaxed.  It was impossible to tell if he was actually trusting James at all, or becoming exhausted by the pain he was in, but the results were positive regardless.  James would take what he could get.

There was another small metal rod capable of knitting skin, so long as the wound wasn’t too serious - it was just perfect for Q’s situation.  For all that James didn’t care much for the Order, he had to marvel at their technology, as he did now, passing the rod slowly back and forth over the sundered skin of Q’s leg, watching as the soft glow of the simple-looking gadget began to magically replace the skin that had gone missing.  

If only it could do the same with James’s biomechanical arm, so that he could get back into contact with MI6…  

“All right, you’ve got two working legs again,” James declared, swiveling now to face the Jedi’s upper half - which tensed a little bit, as if sensing that the Stormtrooper’s attention had shifted.  “Now, before I un-hood you, I want to remind you that you still only have one working arm, though,” he added.  

Q made a scoffing noise even as James’s hands found the fabric around his head.  “No thanks to you.”

“To be fair, you’d been doing your level best to throttle me to death just seconds before,” James retorted, but not with any particular rancor.  He was fairly used to people trying to kill him, and had long ago ceased to take it personally.  Not being promoted?  Now that was just insulting.  Attempted murder?  He could let that slide, because he’d have done the same if he’d been in Q’s place, and had access to the Force and a lightsaber.  Said lightsaber was presently locked away where Q hopefully wouldn’t be able to get to it anytime soon.  

Before the argument could be carried further, James loosened off the knotted fabric and pulled it back to reveal a tousled mop of dark hair and striking green eyes that blinked rapidly as they were subjected to the sudden brightness of the ship’s interior.  Q’s lips pursed even as his pupils shrank, but after looking mildly perturbed, he did the sensible thing and tried to take in everything around him.  Parallels to hooded hawks quickly reappeared in James’s mind as the Jedi’s breathing picked up swiftly, and his expression just as quickly took on a cornered, desperate look - like James’s childhood pet, Q had found some calm within the darkness, when there was nothing he could do but be still and listen.  Now, though, with his sight returned, James could all but see Q’s brain starting to kick into anxious overdrive.  

James raised both of his hands in a non-threatening gesture, but Q’s eyes still snapped to him with a full-body flinch.  “Easy, you’re all right,” James crooned, feeling eight years old again, with a fresh bundle of scared feathers on his hands.  He watched Q’s nostrils flare, his lips whiten from being pressed together.  He could also see pain in every line of his body, from his dislocated shoulder.  Remorse twisted James’s gut, because that was quite fully his fault.  “I’m going to untie your wrists, all right?  And then I promise, I’ll make your shoulder stop hurting.  Can you trust me that long?”

Still looking at James as if the blond-haired man were a Sith Lord or something, the Jedi replied shortly, “No.”

For a moment, James just blinked.  Then he sighed and ran a hand down over his face, muttering, “Well, at least you’re truthful.”  Dropping his hand back to his lap, he countered stubbornly, “Fine.  If you can be truthful, so can I: we’re in the middle of a solar storm right now, and it’s only a matter of time before I either have to take the wheel or the First Order gets the balls to follow us here.  That means there’s a swiftly shrinking window of time for me to get your shoulder joint back into its socket.  Do you understand?”

Now Q was really staring at him in a horrified fashion; in fact, now it looked like Q thought his captor was quite deranged.  “You really flew us into a solar storm?” he echoed back in shock.

“You thought I was kidding about that earlier?”

“I thought that maybe you weren’t bloody insane!”

“It’s actually a genetic condition.”

While Q was stuttering over a response, clearly gobsmacked by this new insight into James’s personality, the Stormtrooper… ex-Stormtrooper, really… took the opportunity to lean over Q and swiftly release his restraints.  His timing was good, and he was fast, so before the Jedi could make use of his newfound freedom, James had snapped loose one of the buckles holding Q’s torso down and then taken hold of his right arm and shoulder.  It was but the work of a moment to jerk everything back into place.  The Jedi’s cry of pain was like a punch to James’s solar plexus, but he figured he deserved a bit of guilt over the matter.  “Better?”

Perhaps Bond’s question had a bit too much levity, because Q (his arms in front of him now, curled up against Bond’s hip like a human comma) scowled and gritted out, “You bastard.”

“Why, Q, you’re so welcome,” James mocked back, saccharinely, as much amused as annoyed by the young Jedi’s pervasive snark, “And you’re welcome for being saved from the First Order, too - I could have just left you.”  Deciding to take a risk, James got up and left the Jedi - still held down by one seatbelt and weathering the last of the fading pain - instead returning to the helm.  His innate sense for danger was still buzzing slightly, but the more he was around Q, the more he began to measure that danger in finite detail.  For example, he was beginning to re-evaluate, factoring in the fact that this was clearly not a veteran Jedi, but a new one.  Still, he called back over his shoulder as he walked away, “And before you think of doing away with me, realize that I’ve basically sabotaged the computer.  You won’t be able to fly the ship without me.”

At first he thought that he wouldn’t get a response, that Q had taken that warning for what it was, and was mulling everything over.  James had actually been sitting down for a good five minutes - his bare, synthetic hand splayed on one of the screens again - adjusting their position, when he heard the Jedi fight loose of the last strap and get up.  James didn’t turn.  This Jedi was not sneaky, and already James was able to track his movements by the soft shuffling of Q’s boots.  When they hit an unexpected rough-patch in the storm, the Jedi ended up slewing forward, catching himself against the copilot’s chair with a little hiss of pained breath.  Now when James glanced at him, he saw that the Jedi looked a bit airsick, and somehow younger than he’d appeared at previous angles.  

The Jedi seemed to steady a little bit as he looked at the dials and screens, however (the viewport being largely useless, just a mass of dark and rippling light).  “You make a lot of assumptions,” the younger man said cagily after a few moments.  

James was willing to play, even if he didn’t know what Q was getting at.  “How so?”  Going more off his troubleseeker sense than any of the screens, James angled the ship to one side, and some of the turbulence faded away.  

“You’re assuming,” Q went on, quite factually, even if James couldn’t miss the undertone of acid that was still buried there, “that I don’t know anything about hacking into ships’ systems.  I might be perfectly capable of re-taking the ship.”

The casual pridefulness had James fighting a smile.  On a whim, he push his chair back and lifted his hands away from the controls, gesturing and offering, “Be my guest.”

Green eyes flicked over to James, instantly suspicious.  When the Stormtrooper merely folded his arms (the armor he was still wearing giving a quiet creak) and canted his head, though, the Jedi grew cautiously intrigued.  He stepped with a light-footed walk as if he were expecting James to jump him at any second, but he nonetheless came close enough to the blond-haired Stormtrooper to look over the Regial’s controls.  Curious himself, James watched as Q assessed everything: the Jedi’s eyes were quick and keen, and when he eventually reached forward to touch the nav-screen, his movements were competent.  Maybe he really could fly a ship.  

Of course, this ship was barely flyable, since it had met up with James Bond’s particular skills.

“What the fuck did you do to this ship?” Q asked in a very nearly dangerous growl two minutes later.  By now he was hunched over the displays and all but in James’s lap, totally focused on the varying switches, buttons, and screens he was interacting with - and he didn’t look as though he liked what he was seeing.  Somehow, that made James very proud.  

By way of answer, James raised his left arm.  Q’s eyes immediately darted back to it, the Jedi shifting uneasily as if just now noticing their various positions - his gaze soon lit on the deep score still visible in James’s armor, however, seeming to notice it for the first time.  James explained before he could be asked, “I got an involuntary upgrade in this arm a few years ago.”  He waggled his fingers and allowed a ghost of a smile onto his face even as Q’s eyebrows lowered cautiously.  “Let’s just say that some of the tech isn’t strictly First Order regulation material.”  

James could tell that he’d caught the Jedi’s interest now, and was secretly quite chuffed to find that Q was the curious sort - and that James was now the focus of that curiosity.  The young man turned around slowly, until he had his back to the panels and screens, and his knees were nearly touching James’s, his narrowed hazel eyes focused on the damaged arm.  “I was wondering why you barely reacted when I cut you,” Q murmured, half to himself.  His eyes grew hot again for a second, leaving James’s arm in favor of glaring at his blue eyes, demanding, “Where is my lightsaber?”

“Safe.”  James folded his arms again and added unabashedly, “And I’m not telling you where it is until I’m sure you won’t try to skewer me with it.”

“How do you know I won’t just find it on my own?”

“Because I have the sneaking suspicion that you’re a terribly young Jedi, and sensing a well-hidden lightsaber might be a bit beyond you,” James replied shrewdly, never breaking eye-contact.

The Jedi flushed and looked away, unconsciously leaning back against the control panel until he bumped something.  Thankfully, James really had fucked up the Regial’s systems, because while Q jumped, the ship itself just gave an angry little beep but otherwise did nothing.  Fighting the urge to laugh - because he had a feeling that that would offend the Jedi to the point of no return - James slid his chair forward again and belatedly returned to manning the controls.  Q moved out of the way, still pink-cheeked, but watched keenly as James splayed his bare left hand over a control panel again.  In fact, within seconds, Q was at his shoulder, apparently getting over any sort of wariness he might have had.  “Your prosthetic is equipped to force a softlink connection,” the Jedi murmured, head tilting so that locks of dark hair fell over his eyes and had to be flicked out of the way.

“I have no idea what that means,” James replied amicably, focusing on flying the ship.  The storm was moving, and he was keen to stay in it - like a prey-animal keeping to the shadows.  It didn’t help that half of the sensors were getting pretty spotty, providing data in fits and bursts.  

Q was leaning closer now, inspecting the way James’s left hand was splayed.  The Jedi sounded a lot like a slightly distracted lecturer as he absently elaborated, “It means you’re connecting to the system without actually accessing any ports - instead of politely putting a key in a lock, you’re breaking the door down.”

“Sounds about my style.”

“Of course it does,” the young Jedi scoffed, but it lacked bite.  He stilled seemed to be gleaning the secrets of the universe from James’s hand, which was beginning to get slightly unnerving.  “Incredible.  You really don’t know what you’re doing, do you?”

“Your belief in my skills is truly staggering.”

“No, I mean-” the Jedi stumbled, then gathered his words again with a frown that put a cute pucker between his eyebrows, “I mean, you’re doing this subconsciously.  You’ve clearly done something to the ship’s entire system, and have some manner of control - but you truly don’t know the details?”

Multitasking wasn’t exactly something that the First Order trained their Stormtroopers to do, but thankfully, M’s personal lessons had been a bit more expansive and grueling.  James was able to think on the question without crashing them into a solar wave or a passing asteroid.  “I know that if I place it against a door, I can override the locks, and that if I press my hand against pretty much anything else, I can scramble it past repair.  I know that there’s a hardline that goes to my central nervous system, but my control over everything is still pretty basic.”

“It’s actually quite advanced,” Q opined, finally straightening.  If James wasn’t mistaken, there had actually been some real respect in his voice - although that aspect seemed, sadly, to be reserved purely for James’s prosthetic arm.  “Most biomechanical limbs are capable of mimicking basic motor functions, and the expensive ones are all but perfect replicas.  But to add a computer component…”  Q shook his head, still staring at James’s arm… a bit covetously, actually.  “It’s one thing to get your brain on speaking terms with a mechanical limb to make it work, but it’s another thing entirely to then make a third connection to an outside computer, translating your will into basic code.”  Suddenly Q looked up, eyes wide with interest as he caught James’s slightly wary blue gaze, “What else can it do?”

“My arm,” James stressed, having not felt so disconnected from his own limb since the weeks following its attachment to his destroyed shoulder, “also allows me to covertly contact my people within the First Order - the same people who gave me standing orders not to kill Jedi pups like you.”

“I’m not a pup.”

“You’re sure as hell not full-grown.”

Q glared for a moment, but just when James thought that the Jedi might actually use the Force to try and choke him again, the storm around them made itself known again.  As the ship lurched, Q actually lost his balance entirely, falling and just barely managing to catch himself with one hand on the arm of Bond’s chair and the other on Bond’s knee.  James himself had bigger things to worry about, so he tipped his chin towards the copilot’s seat and grunted shortly, “Strap yourself in.  I think we’ve outstayed our welcome.”  

~^~

There were probably others reasons besides his heritage that kept James’s from having responsibility for a ship in the First Order - high on that list of reasons was probably the fact that James was an exceedingly reckless flyer.

“Well, the good news is, we’re out of the solar storm,” James declared, chipper.

Q, sitting next to him with a death-grip on the copilot’s harness, was still looking forward at nothing, eyes a bit wild and pallor a bit green.  “I think I’m going to vomit,” he said in a tone that was more of a whimper.  

James couldn’t help it: he looked over and coaxed, “Most people ask what the bad news is, at this point.”

Unfortunately, Q already had an answer to that, said with resigned horror and absolute certainty, “You are the bad news.”  The Jedi’s voice rose a bit hysterically, “You just flew us right through one of the nastiest solar storms I’ve ever seen, and you did it with a ship that barely works!”

For a moment, James tried to figure out if that last bit was a compliment or not.  Q’s tone seemed to indicate not, but it sure sounded like a compliment…  The blond-haired man decided that returning to more important matters was probably necessary.  “See, therein lies the problem.”  When Q finally looked over at him, mouth twitching down in a frown, James hurried to explain, “This is a First Order ship - meaning they have their purist mark all over it.  That means we’ll not only be easily recognizable to any bastard with a lick of sense, but the First Order can track these ships.”  Q’s eyes got wide, but James wasn’t done yet, and made a placating gesture with his right hand - his left hand was once again pressed against one of the Regial’s touchscreens.  “Right now, I’m botching any said efforts to track us.  Unfortunately… that means I’m also botching the ship in general.”

“So we need a new ship.”

“We need a new ship,” James agreed, nodding.  

“What are the chances of us finding a new ship before this one self-destructs or the First Order waltzes around the storm and sees us limping along?” Q asked, and now his tone was so dry that James had to wonder if the Jedi was messing with him.  When James looked over, Q was just staring at him with what had to be a purposefully bland expression, although James could still see the flecks of pure hysteria hidden poorly behind the mask.  It was both amusing and somewhat infuriating to know that Q dealt with panic by subtly sassing people.

Sarcastic or not, the question was valid, so he took in a thoughtful breath and let it out slowly, explaining, “That storm was pretty big.  Any pursuit would have a bit of a trip going around, whereas we went through - and by this point they’re probably not looking for a ship so much as debris.  They have no way of knowing that we found the eye of the storm to bide our time in.”

Even if Q’s Jedi skills clearly needed polishing, his mind was quick, as he raised one eyebrow and asked, “How did you know there was an eye?”

“I didn’t,” James admitted with a certain amount of pride.

What color Q had been regaining immediately disappeared, and both of his eyebrows disappeared under his hairline seconds before he buried his face in his hands.  He groaned past his fingers, “Gods, I’ve been kidnapped by an utter maniac.”

“Rescued,” James stressed the distinction, “You’ve been rescued.  Kidnapping implies being taken away from something good - rescuing is when you get saved from something bad, like being slaughtered by unsympathetic Stormtroopers.”

Q just moaned dramatically again before raising his head and saying in an accusing tone, “Which you still haven’t explained yet!”

“I’ll make you a deal,” James tried, feeling his sense for danger give a twitch, reminding him that while Q might indeed be just a Jedi pup, he still had some teeth on him - as James’s damaged arm and bruised throat could attest.  “If you can bring up some charts and find us an inhabited planet to fly to, I’ll tell you everything you want to know about why I made myself a fugitive for your sake instead of just killing you.  Deal?”

Beneath the messy fall of his dark hair, Q’s eyes were rife with suspicion, but after looking at James so closely that the Stormtrooper half expected to feel his skin burning, the Jedi jerked his chin in a perfunctory nod.  “Fine.  Deal.  But it had better be one helluvan explanation.”

Thinking it all over (his personal history and atypical lineage, everything with MI6), James realized that it would be quite an explanation indeed - and one that he hadn’t had the opportunity to speak out loud before.  He found himself looking forward to it, like a child looking forward to returning to a childhood home they barely remembered.  “You can count on it, Q,” he assured.

~^~

Chapter Text

People had told James that the only reason he’d lived this long was pure, dumb luck - usually, he’d contest that statement, but today it seemed like luck really was on their side.  For starters, Q was actually able to locate a planet, one with a trade colony, no less.

“How in the world do you recognize Scasla as a trade colony?  I somehow can’t imagine that the First Order is particularly big on teaching their Stormtroopers about the diversity of the universe,” Q asked, although he finally seemed to have reached the point where he wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer.  All of Bond’s answers thus far, after all, had been rather cringe-worthy.

This one, fortunately, was a bit more tame.  “No, but MI6 is,” James replied.  He’d managed to explain MI6, at least in the vaguest of terms: a group of rebels deep in the heart of the Order, led by a woman known as M, and interested in the survival of the Jedi (among other things).  Q had accepted that with only mild skepticism - apparently he’d had enough insanity in his life of late to allow him to suspend his disbelief for a bit.  James got a chance to go into more detail now, as he set their course to the planet of Rankatti, where the trade colony Scasla would hopefully provide them with a more serviceable ship, “And you know what the one benefit of uniformity is, in the First Order?  It means that everyone is nearly interchangeable.  So it’s very easy for MI6 to take young Stormtroopers out of their usual classes and train them in things like linguistics and geography.”

Q actually looked faintly impressed.  That prompted Bond to go on and awkwardly admit that from a young age he’d been taught to speak multiple languages and was probably more capable in combat than any five Stormtroopers (which really wasn’t that much to boast about when one realized that many, many trainees skipped classes, but most of them did it out of laziness, not because M was dragging them away to see tutors who wanted to teach them to speak Fyalkan).  

The next stroke of luck was Q himself: it turned out he could indeed fly a ship.  

“I get less airsick when I’m the one flying,” Q explained with clear embarrassment, after he convinced James to let him take over the pilot’s seat.  By this point, it seemed like they at least shared the same goal: regardless of whether Q really trusted James or not, they both wanted to get to Scasla before the Regial broke down or was tracked down.  “And I don’t think that you’ve really messed up the basic flight controls so badly that I can’t make adjustments to the flight-plan that I already set.”

It was true, Q had set their course; James wasn’t bad with maps, but his new companion seemed to be a natural with starcharts and course plotting.  “Knock yourself out,” James gave in without a fight, standing and stretching, “I need to change out of this Stormtrooper gear anyway.  The ship itself is going to draw enough attention without me looking like a First Order flunkey.”  Q made no comment, but one eyebrow twitched upwards as if there were perhaps still differing opinions on James’s ‘flunkey’ status.  ‘More subtle sass,’ James identified the gesture, but was surprisingly uninsulted by it.  “Shout if you get locked out of the computer,” James called over his shoulder as he turned to raid the ship’s stores for something else to wear, “And if you get any ideas about locking me in the storage compartment, just remember that I can unlock any door just about as fast as you can lock it.”

As it turned out, Q didn’t start a one-man-mutiny to take over the ship.  James wasn’t able to find much by way of alternative clothing, but between what he already had on under the Stormtrooper armor and what little he found, he was able to return to the cockpit in a slightly less conspicuous fashion: black trousers, black pullover, tough grey boots.  When Q twisted to note his reappearance, he tensed at first, gave him an unexpectedly lingering once-over, then quickly turned back to the task of flying again.  “You still owe me a lot of explanation,” the Jedi said tersely, “because the more I hear, the harder it is to understand why the First Order tolerates your particular brand of reckless insanity.”

James just stared at the back of the Jedi’s head a minute, brows lowered.  Finally, he stated his conclusion, “You’re a mouthy little shit, aren’t you?”

“And you were more intimidating with your armor on,” the Jedi sniffed back, then continued with his demands, “Now explain.  Why didn’t the First Order find you out years ago - or just kick you out on account of you being insane?”  

When James walked over to lower himself with a huff into the copilot’s seat, Q watched him with lingering wariness, proof that despite his snark, the Jedi still remembered how recently the two of them had been locked in battle in the snow.  Deciding that antagonizing the young fellow probably wasn’t advisable (at least not while Q was flying the ship), James simply replied, “Believe it or not, it’s actually something of a selling point.”  Q glanced at him more fully now, disbelief clear in his quick green eyes, so James shrugged and just laid out the facts, “I’m not one-hundred-percent human.  I’m part Shezarand.”

Q just stared.  His mouth even dropped open a little bit.  

“Q, you’re steering, remember?” James offered helpfully, flicking a hand to indicate the viewport and the controls that needed frequent attention.  The Jedi’s mouth snapped shut and he jerked his gaze forward again, and his pale skin tone meant that his embarrassed flush was visible from his cheeks all the way to the tips of his ears where they poked out past his ridiculous dark hair.  

After a moment of focusing on his chosen task, Q eventually responded, “Gods, that makes entirely too much sense.  It’s like everything's falling into place now.”

“I take it you’ve heard of the Shezarand then?”

“I’ve heard that full-blooded Shezarand are clairvoyant and slightly telepathic, but that if they interbreed, their mental gifts transform into impulsive suicidal tendencies,” Q stated bluntly, gaining him a look of impressed surprised from Bond.  The Jedi was well-informed.  “Most children of mixed Shezarandi blood end up jumping off a cliff or running into a burning building before they reach the age of ten.  How the devil did you survive this long?”

“I’m only one-fourth Sezarand at best,” James defended himself, although it was probably less than that - after all, his father was still living.  He squirmed a bit and felt compelled to admit, “And I wouldn’t call it suicidal so much as an increased awareness of danger… and a decreased awareness that going towards dangers is bad for one’s health.”

Q snorted, barely smothering a laugh as he kept his eyes focused on the viewport, which was presently awash with distant stars.  “In other words, you’re an adrenalin junky.”

“I prefer to think that I’m addicted to danger.  The First Order called me a ‘troubleseeker’.”

“Oh, well that sounds much more suave,” Q returned, and it was clear by the quirk of his mouth and the tone of his voice that he was making fun, but James still felt the urge to chuckle.  More to the point, Q noted, “So you weren’t joking when you said that it was a genetic condition?”

Considering that that conversation had happened when Q was tied up, in pain, and still quite out of his mind with fear, James was shocked that the Jedi remembered that comment.  “Nope.  In fact, the First Order was aware of it, although my skills outweighed the fact that I was an ‘impure half-breed’.”  James made his sarcasm clear in the last words, reveling in how free it felt to finally express how much that angered him.  The lower growl that had entered James’s voice prompted Q to look at him out of the corner of one eye, but the Jedi didn’t comment.  “I’m capable of identifying the most dangerous entity on a battlefield and go towards it like metal shavings to a magnet, which can be useful when there’s, say, a hidden explosive in an enemy compound.”

“Or… a Jedi on the run?” Q guessed, intrigued despite himself, it seemed.  

“Precisely.”  Then, because he couldn’t help it, James stretched a leg out to toe at Q’s boot and add, “Although I think it was really just the lightsaber I was sensing.  Tell me, how did a half-trained Jedi like yourself end up all on your own on Nik’ah’tenia?”

Q made a little noise not unlike a hiss and a growl combined, moving his foot out of reach and glaring.  The Jedi’s half-cloak didn’t hide the way he straightened his shoulders, trying to appear more imperious than he was as he retorted loftily, “For you information, I wasn’t alone - at least, not until recently.  I was traveling with another Jedi.”

James grew interested.  “Were they on Nik’ah’tenia when the First Order attacked?”

At first, it looked like Q would clam up and not answer, but apparently his distrust of James wasn’t so great that he felt the need to hide this fact.  “No.  She’d made a trip off-world just a few days before.”  The Jedi didn’t elaborate, and as much as James itched for more information, he didn’t press.  Q’s lips had pressed together and some emotion was clawing behind his green eyes, showing James that this was a touchy subject - which was no surprise, really.  Q had probably been very dependent upon this other Jedi, and now he was alone, and his only consolation was that his teacher was probably safer than he was, wherever she was.  

James hoped that he’d be able to prove to Q that he was safe here, too, with James.  

So, the ex-Stormtrooper decided that it was time to give out more information.  Apropos of nothing, James stretched his legs out (not kicking Q this time) and crossed them at the ankles, saying, “I’ve actually known a Jedi before - back when I was a child.  The First Order came to my colony and destroyed it because they were hunting her.”  Although James was watching the stars outside the Regial, he could see in his peripheral vision that he had Q’s attention now.  The blond-haired man went on steadily, “The only reason they let me live was because I got a head-injury in the attack, so they didn’t think I’d remember any poisonous Jedi thoughts.”  James shrugged, the memories old enough that they didn’t pack much of a sting anymore.  “I think the First Order also had faulty information, thinking that the Jedi had only been among us for a few days before they tracked her down - in reality, she’d been living in my neighbor’s house for almost a season, and I remember her pretty well.”  He remembered having a childhood crush on her, too, even though he’d been too young to really know what that meant at the time.  He drank in the memories for a moment, before remembering where he was, what he was (or had been, until today), and finishing in a more vindictive tone,  “If nothing else, though, the First Order is good at believing its own stories, so it wasn’t hard to play along, and my head-injury really was pretty serious, at least for an eleven-year-old.  At first, I really didn’t remember much, but when I started recovering and recollecting things, it was easier to play along and not say anything, and the First Order was more than willing to accept that, too.”  

“Fuck,” Q breathed, very softly.  He sounded both horrified and a bit angry.  James looked over at him, a bit surprised by the fire in those green eyes.  “You were only eleven?”

“Child soldier,” James indicated himself, then lifted and dropped his shoulders again.  It was a well-known fact that the First Order took in children by the shipload, whether that was from Zygerrian slavers or from the wreckages of the very colonies they’d destroyed.  He didn’t think that it was a topic he needed to elaborate on.  “My files got a bit mixed up, so no one actually realized that I wasn’t a pure-blooded human until years later, but by then I’d proven valuable, so they kept me.”

It looked like Q’s foundations were being shaken a bit, and after staring at James for a moment longer, the Jedi forcefully tore his eyes away and went back to the task of steering the Regial.  It was fighting the helm a bit, and James wondered if he’d have to hack into the system again and beat it into submission.  Q handled it, however, after a few moments of furious button-poking and wrestling with the joystick.  The result was that the Regial settled out and calmed under Q’s control.  

The result of Q wrestling with his thoughts about Bond was less clear.

~^~

Their luck held: they made it to Rankatti without getting caught or suffering a total system failure.  Q refused to give up the helm the whole way, which Bond accepted, because the more he saw of the Jedi’s flying skills, the more confident he was in them.  Perhaps Q was still getting the hang of the Force, but he seemed to know computers.  They didn’t talk much more, although Q finally asked whether James had any way to contact MI6 - at which point James had rather tersely explained that yes, he had, until Q had tried to cut off his arm.  Q had had the decency to look a bit regretful about that, although he pointedly hadn’t apologized, and the topic had been dropped.  

James used Q’s preoccupation to slip into the back of the ship again, looking for more clothes that fit him but also taking a moment to look at his arm.  Standing amidst the sparse racks of supplies (the Regial wasn’t made to be away from home for long), James skinned off his black pullover, leaving him stripped from the waist up.  He immediately angled his arm, craning his neck to get the best look at his left bicep that he could.  To even a curious eye, James’s prosthetic arm looked identical to his real one, but now he had an ugly gash bisecting his outer arm and revealing the truth beneath.  The fake fleshcoat was burned back, revealing melted metal and circuitry, where Q’s damned saber had cut through sophisticated armor like it was butter, damaging the more delicate workings underneath.  It actually did hurt a bit, insofar as James could feel pain from the mechanical part of himself - his brain was getting repeated signals telling him that something was wrong, and if it wasn’t actually painful, it was most certainly irksome.

A faint scuff at the door had James turning, finding himself face-to-face with a certain green-eyed Jedi, leaning through the open portal with a caught-out look on his face.  Probably the reason he looked caught out was because his eyes had just finished a rather obvious once-over of James’s bare torso by the time James turned and noticed him.  Q’s eyes immediately snapped up to James’s eyes, of course, but by then the Jedi’s cheeks were pink.  

“I… ah… can’t help but notice the damage,” Q broke the silence awkwardly, flicking his eyes meaningfully to James’s arm while the ex-Stormtrooper just continued to stand where he was, half-naked and unabashed.  Q tripped his way through more words, “If you want, I could try my hand at fixing it.  I’ve got some training in the matter, and since I broke it, I figure I should… well… fix it.  I’d need to pick up the necessary tools, of course.”

If Q could be snarky, then James figured he could be slightly socially inappropriate, so instead of going for his pullover, he merely folded his arms across his bare chest.  “Well, aren’t you just full of surprises?  Does that mean you trust me now?”

Q’s eyes had wandered distractedly, but then returned to James’s playful blue gaze to assert sternly, “No, but the only way to verify your story is if you contact your people, and apparently your prosthetic is the only way to do that.”  He gestured vaguely at James’s damaged arm.  Or perhaps his corded forearms.  Or his pectoral muscles.  “So let’s just say I have a vested interest in the repairs.”

“Logical,” James commended, then leaned a shoulder up against one of the storage cabinets and added, “Besides just proving that I’m telling you the truth, getting my comm-link up and running again will give us access to inside information about the First Order and their movements.  M will be able to tell us if they’re still on our tail, or if they think that we were obliterated in that solar storm.”

“Or it’ll turn out that you were lying about everything, and no matter how I fix your arm, there will be no M or MI6,” Q countered in a surprisingly lackadaisical voice.  His continued mistrust made politely clear, the Jedi finally tore himself away from his half-nude companion and turned to head back to the cockpit.  

“Hey, Q,” James called him back, and was rewarded by a pair of wary green eyes angling back to him.  Not moving from his position, but copying Q’s previous, droll tone, “Even if I am lying about MI6, I’m still ex-First Order.  I have valuable information about them.”  Affecting nonchalance, James lifted and dropped one shoulder.  “Just keep that in mind if you’re planning on ditching me the moment we touch down.”

For a moment Q looked like he was perhaps going to say something biting; a tension had crept into his body, and it was clear that he didn’t like being cornered or manipulated, which James understood.  Who did?  However, after a moment, Q seemed to collect himself.  Instead of telling Bond to go fuck himself, all the Jedi said was, “If I ditch you, it’ll take me twice as long to find my lightsaber,” then turned around with a sort of finality that reminded Bond of a miffed feline.  

It made him smile despite himself.

~^~  

Scasla hung off the edge of a cliff, waters rushing under and past it in a way that made one wonder if it was held up but antigrav tech or pure luck.  The city itself spread back from the edge like a slowly spreading array of tree-roots, ultimately following the snaking line of the river.  Despite the source of water, there was very little green anywhere, save along the very edge of the river itself.  Wary of being noticed in a First Order ship, Bond and Q had landed a healthy distance away, where the earth was nothing but cracked, red earth.  

Q’s sat on the rim of part of the landing gear, re-wrapping the strips of cloth that wound from his soft boots up around his calves, meant to keep his trousers from getting in the way when he moved.  It took a bit of doing to hide the tear still remaining in his right trouser-leg, but at least the limb underneath didn’t hurt, his shoulder likewise.  Q almost wished that the pain had lingered, because it would make it easier to stay wary of the Stormtrooper moving around in front of him.  Bond had found a jacket, and after thoroughly rolling it in the dust, there was little chance that anyone would realize that it had once been pure white, First Order gear.  The rest of the man was reasonably smudged with rusty red by now, too, adding to the authenticity, even if Q’s eidetic memory could provide picture-perfect images of James Bond in Stormtrooper gear, lunging at him through the snow.  

 “For such an arid-looking place,” Q commented as the silence grew too much, “it’s remarkably cool here.”  He plucked at his cowl, but ultimately left it pooled around his shoulders.  

“I’m just glad that it’s not blisteringly hot, or I’d have a cooked Jedi on my hands,” the Stormtrooper replied in turn, gesturing briefly to Q’s attire, which was still unchanged from when they’d met.  

An errant breeze whistled in, rustling and tossing Q’s hair so that he had to push it back from his eyes, uncomfortable with letting the blond stormtrooper out of his sight for even a windy second.  “Very funny,” Q quipped even as he caught the pack James tossed him.  It was heavy enough that he nearly dropped it.  He understood why they wouldn’t be coming back to the ship - it was too distinctly First Order, and would be more of a liability than a boon - but they’d packed whatever they could carry from within.  Q had watched Bond like a hawk through the entire ship-gutting process, but still had one big question gnawing at his mind...  “If you left my lightsaber on the ship, I swear I’ll dig your eyes out with my thumbs,” he said frankly.  

“Don’t worry, I have it,” James admitted.  Instead of looking bothered by the threat, he smiled, reminding Q that the man had been born without a proper self-preservation instinct.  Still smirking, the older man hiked the straps of his own pack up over his shoulders, also checking that he could access his holsters.  If nothing else, The Regial’s armory had been well-stocked, although once again James had been forced to balance practicality with lethality: like the ship, some weapons screamed their origin, and that would cause trouble.  Q had watched the man practically mourn a rifle or two before leaving them on the ship.  “Come on,” James beckoned, apparently satisfied, “When we find a new ship, maybe we can get the seller to lower the price in return for scrapping The Regial.”

“Even though it’s First Order?” Q raised an eyebrow but stood, shouldering his allotted bag.  

“I’m hoping we can find someone suitably unscrupulous,” James replied with a small, Cheshire grin that said he rather liked the possibility.  

Huffing and looking away - wishing that he was good enough at this Jedi business to call for his saber - Q muttered under his breath, “You really are fucking insane.”

By the chuckle that drifted back to Q on the next breeze, the big blond bastard had heard him.  Flushing to his ears in embarrassment, Q scrambled to catch up with the man, who was moving with surety even though they couldn’t even see the city from here.  

It was a long trek, but one that was spent mostly in silence.  James looked content with it, and Q hadn’t the faintest idea what the man was thinking, but Q himself had a million thoughts whirling like a dust-storm in his head - and those were just the thoughts dedicated to the most immediate issue: resupplying and finding a ship.  Q wasn’t even sure how to start untangling any sort of future beyond that, because everything had spun so very totally out of control back on Nik’ah’tenia.  

The fierce ache he had for his companion sprang up and made Q’s breath catch, and that firmed his resolve to just think about the present for now - at least until it was confirmed whether or not Stormtrooper JB007 was really part of a pro-Jedi faction at the heart of the First Order.  

The two of them had actually talked and planned a bit, as they’d approached Rankatti.  Q himself was nervous about how they’d procure a ship, but didn’t want to admit that he had precious little funds; Jedi weren’t rich, especially ones that had been kidnapped/rescued with little more than one bag of their already meager belongings.  Fortunately, Bond had admitted quite freely that he had creds - if they could still access MI6.  Considering the man’s cringe-worthy manner of handling tech (and the number Q had done on the man’s biomechanical arm), it was a bit of a miracle that James actually managed to connect through to a blinddrop server, where (by another miracle) there was actually quite a large quantity of creds waiting for them.  The entire process was anonymous, and Bond had shrugged, slightly apologetic, “I can provide pretty deep pockets for this operation, but I still can’t prove to you that I’m MI6 yet.  Or that MI6 exists.”

Still, it was a step in the right direction.  Q himself had more knowledge of various cultures and species and peoples that they might meet on a trade colony like Scasla, so that, combined with Bond’s possibly-MI6-issued-funds, they could possibly make quite a good team.

Q gave his head a hard shake.  They weren’t a team.  Bond had kidnapped him and dislocated his arm, and there was still the possibility that James was making all of this up - to what end, though, Q couldn’t deduce.  

Furiously pondering, Q was distracted enough that he walked right into James’s pack.  “What the f-?” Q started to swear, cutting off and demanding, “Why did you stop?”  James was looking off ahead and to the right, but his expression was hard to describe… almost rapturous, actually, which was somehow worse than if the man had appeared scared.  Q followed his gaze, squinting as he noticed the first signs of civilization.  It looked like a domed hut off in the distance, with a few other outbuildings, maybe a vehicle, but behind the hut…  “Is that a ship?”

“That,” James replied, “is a fast ship.”

~^~

They got lucky.  The ship was for sale.  Apparently the reason it was for sale, however, was because its owner had lost an arm in an accident - and even though that still left three fully functional arms, that apparently wasn’t enough to safely pilot a Nebelung ship.  

Q had never heard of a Nebelung, but James clearly had.  The man had barely taken his eyes off the craft from the moment they’d walked up to the little collection of buildings, so they were lucky that Q had known the language of the Ceklin pilot (ex-pilot) who had come out suspiciously to greet them.  James had marveled at the ship while Q had tried to remember his Cekl dialects, and he still wasn’t sure what had gotten them into the ex-pilot’s good graces: Q’s manners and believable lies about just passing through and needing a ship, or James’s clear appreciation of the Ceklin’s old ship.  

“This is a terrible idea,” Q whispered, as the Ceklin opened the hatch on the ship’s underbelly.  The ship looked like a giant bird, or perhaps a tear-drop with wings, a slight bump on the back perhaps revealing a gunport.  It was the oddest-shaped ship Q had ever seen, and he didn’t know if he liked it.  

“I think it’s a great idea,” Bond argued back with a stubborn folding of his arms, leaning a little closer - Q felt his warm breath waft across the shell of his ear - “Do you know how many ships like this the First Order has ever managed to catch?  One.  At least to my knowledge.”  James straightened and continued to eye the ship, noting with approval, “The only reason we caught that one was because it had been recently stolen, and its new pilot didn’t know a fucking thing about how to fly it.”

“Bond, we don’t know a fucking thing about how to fly it!” Q hissed with an angry gesture.

James just clapped him on the shoulder and approached as the Ceklin beckoned them forward with two of his three arms.  “I’m sure one of us will figure it out.  You look like a quick learner.”

Q was left sputtering as James strode forward and hauled himself up the open hatch-door (which was little more than a ladder, to Q’s further disapproval) and into the belly of the ship.  

Ceklins were a mix between avian and insectoid, and Q was never sure whether to describe their face as having a complicated beak or a simplified mandible, but either way, it was impossible to tell if the ship’s owner was smiling or not.  He and James seemed to be getting along swimmingly, though, despite the language barrier, and Q resigned himself to being ignored once the three of them were in the ship.  It was a snug fit, the ship definitely not designed for many passengers, but the presence of a gunner’s nest and a pilot’s seat - and a few more rooms hinted at behind closed doors - at least said that this was a ship meant for two.  Q wandered over to the pilot’s seat, which faced the ship’s entire, rounded nose: an open viewport that give a clear view of the desert beyond.  It was like being inside the curve of a glass marble.  The spires of Scasla were just visible in the distance.

A clicking, guttural voice behind him announced that the Ceklin hadn’t forgotten about Q.  The Jedi turned, finding the alien standing with his upper right arm idly rubbing the stump of his lower left - a man reminded of an old wound.  More clicks followed, a gentle buzz beneath them that Q was only able to mimic because of lots of practice.

James appeared, expression guardedly curious.  “What did he say?”

“He said,” Q repeated, slowly and in Commons, “That she can be flown easily, if you want to fly her slowly and badly.”  A low burr of noise, a vibrating rasp.  Q cocked his head, struggling a moment with the translation before the words unfolded and made sense.  “But that she doesn’t like to be flown that way.”  There was another rasping snap of noise, and Q beetled his brows and translated automatically as he frowned up at the ship’s owner, “He wants me to try out the controls.”

At that point, Q expected a bit of argument; James obviously had machismo to spare, and usually that aligned itself with a sense of superiority, and the need to be in control.  In Q’s experience, men like that wanted to be the ones in the cockpit, but the blond-haired man just chuckled and leaned back against the far wall, giving in surprisingly swiftly, “Well, then give it a try.  How does that saying go?  ‘There's nothing holding you back but fear and common sense’?”

“I think that applies to you more than me,” Q grumbled, then spoke the Ceklin term for agreement and turned to approach the pilot’s seat.  There was no copilot's seat, he noted, and he looked back at the ship’s old pilot a bit uncertainly. According to James, Ceklins weren't even the species that had built these ships, so Q hoped this fellow knew what he was doing.

What followed was a whirlwind explanation of how one commanded - Q was pretty sure that the Ceklin was using the word for ‘commanded’ instead of ‘piloted’ - a Nebelung ship.  The reason that very few people flew them, and thus the reason that this one had been sitting on the property since its original owner’s accident, became immediately clear: Q had never seen a ship with so many moving parts.  The panel of dials and screens stretched a one-hundred-and-eighty-degree arc in front of the pilot’s chair, and it controlled everything from the thrusters to the ship’s wings - which were, apparently, designed like actual bird wings.  When Q tested them out, he was shocked by how responsive they were, but also by the fact that they were designed to move independently - thus complicating the system even more.  They could be linked, but clearly the pilot was meant to place one hand on each thigmotropic screen to the far left and far right of the control panel’s arc.  Those screens were incredibly sensitive, but even as Q pressed his hands into them - feeling the suede-like surface press back - Q found himself growing entranced by the pure feats of engineering that had gone into this.  He couldn't read a word of the original language that this was written in, but already his eyes were beginning to devour the symbols, noting patterns, memorizing.  He saw that he was meant to sync the wings whenever he wanted to free up a hand to do anything else, but theoretically, once the rest of the ship was moving, he could control the ship almost entirely just by getting a handle on how the wings extended, flexed, and angled-

The Ceklin was saying something.  Q tore himself away from his study to blink owlishly up at the dark, parrot-like eyes above him.  “What did you say?”

Despite the fact that Q had spoken unthinkingly in Common, the message apparently came across, because the Ceklin inhaled, exhaled, and then said in a slow, even measure, in his own tongue, “Your friend went for supplies, and instructed that you stay here.  He shall return.”

Unsure what it meant that Bond was leaving him in the belly of a ship that Q had purported to hate with an alien that they’d only just met, Q sat uneasily for a moment… before the ship’s owner began to point out that the ship’s rearward engines were designed to act like a ‘tail,’ and therefore were movable.  Apparently this was where the Ceklin had required four arms to fly the thing, but Q dove into the details like an asteroid making entry, and he forgot that Bond had even left him.

Chapter Text

James didn’t speak any Cekl dialects, but he was a good judge of people - or, rather, his Shezarand heritage meant that he was could tell on an instinctual level that the Ceklin ex-captain was no danger.  After realizing that, it was easy to leave Q in the alien’s care, especially since Q had become so enraptured by the ship that it would probably be impossible to tear him away at this point.  James himself was pretty awed by their find, but he knew that at least one of them had to check out Scasla and think about getting them some supplies.  Listening for any whispers about the First Order wouldn’t be a terrible idea either.

It was a bit of a walk to the trading colony, but James wasn’t opposed to it, and soon settled into a ground-eating lope that he’d been trained to hold for hours - in armor, no less.  He felt a bit naked without the white plates on him now, but also lighter in a way that went beyond the physical.  Perhaps he’d have felt a bit more vulnerable, but he’d also… not stolen - he’d secret-borrowed Q’s lightsaber to bring with him in case of trouble.  M had assured him years ago that it didn’t take a Jedi to turn the weapon on, and that the beam of plasma would cut just as well in untrained hands.  Plus, if he left it behind and Q did by some chance have the Jedi skills to sniff it out, then chances were high that James would have to in turn hunt Q down, and he really didn’t want to dislocate the kid’s arm again.  Or get Force-choked.

Somehow, that danger made James more fond than uneasy.  Perhaps it was because Q was just a pup, and James had respect for anything that wasn’t afraid to bare its teeth.  

Actually entering Scasla was something of a culture-shock.  For starters, James couldn’t recall the last time he’d been on something so technologically ancient as an actual ferry, which was necessary to carry him across the water to Scasla itself.  To approach the massive river, he’d found a main road, joining a surprisingly robust influx of people coming in from outlying farms and villages.  Still, even that mass of beings - most of them Rankatti natives, dense-furred against the omnipresent wind - was nothing compared to what greeted James upon landing.  

Dense, ancient fortifications stood against both the river and the chill, enclosing a noisy hub of diversity and activity.  A whole city lay within, a trade colony of impressive proportions and abuzz with scents, smells, and sights that even an MI6-trained Stormtrooper wasn’t used to.  James had been amidst aliens of all kinds in the past, but usually that had only occurred when the First Order was attacking, policing, or subduing the populace.  Now, James was just one drop in a sea of faces, and he felt his troubleseeker sense begin to hum from multiple directions in his head.  Nothing at a life-threatening level, however.  Just the general, natural danger that all folks accepted when they walked into the controlled chaos of a place like Scasla. 

Pushing aside the little sparks of warning from his sixth sense with ease (James had learned early on that not all danger required his attention, much less his worry or fear), James reminded himself that he wasn’t a Stormtrooper anymore.  He just looked like a regular human, and while there was a vast array of species milling about, his species was also represented (his human side, anyway).  Good.  That meant that all he had to do was act like he belonged.  James had been doing that in the First Order for the majority of his life.  

Plunging into the throng, James began to explore.  He had a few goals besides simple exploration, of course, and took note of different stalls as he wended his way to the main marketplace of Scasla - which in and of itself was a veritable labyrinth, with new distractions at every turn.  James’ keen eye and the background buzzing of his troubleseeker sense allowed him to see various pickpockets in the crowd, but also the vast array of food and wares, and what might have been the vaguest sort of policing force.  All in all, a place that was safe enough to do legitimate business like buy clothes and supplies, but hopefully still amoral enough in places for someone like James to sell of a First Order ship for scrap.  

By the time James left the bustling island, he’d sold off the First Order rifle and a few other things scavenged from The Regial, and had new clothing for himself and Q - as well as a surprise that he hoped would make up for his rough handling of the Jedi when they’d first met.   James was betting on the Ceklin ex-captain letting them stay for the night, based upon how eager the fellow had seemed for interesting company.   

James felt a sense of panic that had nothing to do with his troubleseeker sense as he left Scasla behind and started to realize that he didn’t see the Nebelung ship next to the Ceklin’s home anymore.  Heart giving a physically painful flip in his chest, James picked up his pace, and was almost running by the time he reached the stretch of sandy earth where the great, bird-like ship had previously rested.  There were deep impressions in the ground and torn weeds where the long-time earth-bound ship had been docked, but otherwise no sign of the ship - or of Q. 

Just as James’ panic began to claw up his throat, a great shadow swooped over him, carrying with it a gust of wind that nearly knocked him over and flung dust everywhere.  There was barely a sound to accompany it, besides a breathy sort of keening, and James looked up to see the Nebelung ship banking and coming around for another pass.  James’ troubleseeker sense screamed that he could be crushed, but all that did was make him grin, anxiety transforming into rapturous excitement.  He could just make out Q’s pale face and dark thicket of hair through the nose of the ship, as it swooped past again.  The Jedi pup looked almost viciously determined in the brief second where James was able to see details, and the ex-Stormtrooper found himself chuckling even as he squinted against the winds and dirt.  Then he just settled his weight between his feet and watched, enjoying his first glimpse of a Nebelung ship in action, her body moving as if she had a master at the wheel. 

Well.  Mostly.  There were a few notable wobbles as Q tried to take her back in for a landing, and James winced as she almost tipped over instead of touching down on her three landing struts; it was good to know that Q was merely a prodigy, not a miracle-worker.  James approached as the engines powered down, the ship’s wings creaking faintly as they stilled.  Somewhere during the whole process, James had realized that the ship was not only deathly quiet when the engines weren’t going at full power, but that the Nebelung ship had a unique capacity to power down and power up its engines at will, without stalling out.  The thing glided like a kite.  James appreciated her stealth. 

James was under the belly of the ship as the single hatch opened, and before the ladder even descended, he was hearing Q’s frustrated voice snarling, “Fuck!” with a respectable amount of volume.  He thought he heard the chitters and clicks of the Ceklin answering, more softly.  The Jedi appeared at the top of the ladder, and started to storm down only to slip on a rung, lose his grip, and slide down the rest of the way.  Thankfully, James was there to catch and steady him.  He let go as the Jedi shook him off, swearing in another language now, and still staggering badly enough that he nearly toppled onto his face.  For some reason, James found that more amusing than troubling. 

“And here I was about to congratulate you on a good first flight,” James drawled as the Ceklin started to exit the ship, too, albeit in a more stately fashion.

Q had regained his balance a few steps away, but still looked pretty wild-eyed as he spun around.  “That ship,” he jabbed a finger at the wing above him, “is the most needlessly complicated machine I have ever had my hands on!”

Watching Q’s reactions, and looking at the way the Ceklin looked almost… pleased… James smiled a bit wider.  He folded his arms and leaned against a landing strut, then asked knowingly, “But the result is worth it, isn’t it?”

Q was breathing hard through his nose, and flexing his hands as if he could still feel the controls and thigmotropic panels.  “Yes,” he finally, grudgingly spat out.  The Ceklin let loose a clattering cackle that James could only translate as laughter.  

When the ex-captain chittered something else, Q was quick to shoot back, “No, I didn’t.  I nearly totalled the ship, with us in it, five times!”

A few clicks and a please-sounding burr of noise followed.  If James wasn’t mistaken, now the Ceklin looked amused.  James sure as hell was.  “What did he say?” James pressed, looking to the Jedi for a translation.

Shifting uneasily from foot to foot, Q glowered at the Ceklin for a moment before flicking his big green eyes back to Bond.  “First he said that I flew very well, and then he insisted that most people wouldn’t have managed to even get Glaurung off the ground.”

“Glaurung?” James echoed.

“The ship’s name.”

James smiled, and couldn’t help but tease, “Good to know you’re more of a prodigy at flying than you are at other things.”

Somehow, Q was able to realize that James was referring to his Jedi skills.  Or, at least, his glare indicated as much, and James saw his hands twitch as if he wanted very, very badly to Force-choke the blond-haired man in front of him.  With an audience, however, he couldn’t, so James just grinned wider and settled his weight complacently between his feet, where he’d set down his bags.  Fortunately, said bags also caught Q’s attention, turning it away from the present conversation before he could go nuclear on his infuriating companion.  

“What’s in those?” he asked, clearly torn between suspicion and curiosity.

Deciding that he wasn’t above using bribery, James let his grin turn crooked, and replied, “At least a few things that I think you’ll like - I’ll show you, but only after you ask the captain if he might be willing to sell us Glaurung.”

~^~

Looking back, Q strongly suspected that the Ceklin (who had an actual name, but even Q struggled to pronounce it) had undersold his ship to them because he was simply happy that someone could fly it in a respectable manner.  Q, of course, didn’t think that he was as qualified a pilot as the Ceklin did, but apparently his opinion on the subject didn’t matter.  James was also a pleasant surprise: while unable to speak Cekl, James was a keen negotiator.  It possibly had to do with that mysterious and honestly worrisome Shezerand quirk that he had - his ability to reputably sense danger.  One way or another, James was somehow able to maneuver the conversation smoothly, even with Q translating, and with the Ceklin ex-captain perhaps understanding more Common than he let on.  It was James’ decision to let the Ceklin know that they had a ship to trade, and that it was definitely not of the legal sort.  Instead of instantly threatening to turn them in to the authorities… the Ceklin paused, cocked his head, and then began bartering in earnest.  Q let out a breath of relief, and for the first time was sincerely glad that he was keeping company with someone who could dodge metaphorical landmines (even if he seemed to have a habit of running towards more literal ones).

A deal was struck by nightfall, by which point Q and Bond had also been fed a simple but hearty meal, and had quite possibly made a friend.  

“So,” Q said, later that evening, after they’d also been giving a place to bed down for the night.  It was little more than a simple room with pallets on the floor, but the building kept out the wind and was surprisingly warm.  “Now we have a ship.  Care to hold up your end of the bargain, and show me what you bought?  I know that you were to visit Scasla.”  Fidgeting where he sat on the edge of his pallet, watching James pull off his boots and settle down, too, Q narrowed his eyes and added, “I also wouldn’t mind knowing where my saber is.”

“Do you really think I’m going to show you where your weapon is right before bed?” James asked, plopping down and leaning against the wall, one eyebrow raised.  

“I could choke you in your sleep without one.”

“Ah, but then you wouldn’t have anyone to help you find your lightsaber,” the ex-Stormtrooper shot keenly back.  

Q’s fingers itched right then for the Force, but the truth was the Bond was right: he had no idea where the man had hidden Q’s most valuable weapon, and he honestly didn’t think that he could find it on his own.  Shame and inadequacy burned through his veins, and he gritted his teeth to try and keep the emotions off his face, even as he fell silent.

He had a feeling that Bond saw anyway, because the haughty, teasing expression softened somewhat.  “If you fix up my arm,” James said, his tone more placating than before as he gestured towards his left biceps, “I’ll give you your saber back, and then we can return to Scasla together.  I saw a few dataports there where I could connect to MI6 and prove who I am, and then there’ll be no need to hide weapons from you.”

Q narrowed his eyes, wary of the offered kindness.  “Those are some high-expectations, especially considering that I don’t even have the tools necessary to patch up your prosthetic,” he replied slowly.  

Bond’s blue eyes lit up.  He stretched out one bare foot to nudge one of his bags in Q’s direction.  “That’s where you’re wrong,” he said with a certain amount of smugness, “Open it.  I didn’t spend this morning gallivanting in the sky like you did-”  Before Q could make it clear that he had been doing no gallivanting, James finished with a smile, “-I spent it picking up presents to make up for the bad first impression I made on you.”

Okay, now Q was intrigued.  Sitting and holding onto his distrustful glare for long enough that his eagerness hopefully didn’t show, Q rocked forward on his knees at the edge of his pallet, opening up the bags.  What he found at first was indeed pleasant - changes of clothes, hopefully of a fitting size - but then he dug a bit deeper and felt excitement replace his previous bad mood.  James was chuckling softly as Q instantly dragged out the toolkit, but Q ignored him in favor of unlatching the case and sifting through its contents, his brain lighting up as it identified, catalogued, and critiqued every little thing that he saw.  

“Did I do good?” James asked, in a damnably smug tone that said he already knew that he had.

Not wanting to feed what was clearly already a bloated ego, Q allowed, “This isn’t an altogether terrible set of tools.”  Actually, it was far from terrible.  He resisted the urge to ask how much this had cost.  It had a lot more in it than Q would need for fixing James’ prosthetic, but apparently the man hadn’t wanted to risk Q not having something he required.  That lightened Q’s heart in small but unexpected ways.  “All right, let’s do this then,” he made up his mind, standing… and then losing track of exactly what he wanted to do.  Did he want to approach Bond, and sit next to the Stormtrooper to work on his arm…?  Did he want to make Bond come to him, in a subtle power-play…?  If he tried to move the toolbox, would he just end up dropping it all across the floor…?  Q settled for a middle ground: he nudged the toolbox over carefully between the two pallets, walked primly over to sit on the far end of James’ pallet, and then reached out a hand to levitate a tool towards himself in an unsubtle use of the Force.

James, still sitting where he was, watched with eyes slitted in something between wariness and appreciation.  “Not bad.  Do you do parties?”

The tool wobbled in the air, but thankfully it was close enough for Q to reach out and snatch it.  He glared at the man responsible for his loss of concentration.  “No.  Do you want me to fix your arm up or not?” he huffed back.  

The silence that followed included Q doing his best to look professionally unimpressed, and Bond watching him with one raised eyebrow.  Just as the Jedi started to feel tense, though, still unsure of this situation and this man across from him, James’s posture relaxed and he gave in with a shrug.  Of course, then he reached down for the hem of his shirt, dragging it up off his torso in a smooth orchestration of movement that put far more muscle on display than Q had expected.  Q had been traveling nomadically with Eve for so long that he’d started to honestly forget how much he liked the look of a humanoid male body - and now he was staring at an athletic, scarred torso that he’d already caught himself staring at before.  To make matters worse, the Stormtrooper didn’t seem to have any reluctance or embarrassment about showing it.  So while Q felt his face heating up, Bond merely dropped his discarded shirt in his lap and lifted his left arm a bit.  “Everything from the shoulder down is prosthetic,” James said, and Q finally managed to drag his thoughts back in line, staring at the damage he’d done instead of at Bond’s body, “I think to get a look at the damage, you’ll have to peel back the fleshcoat starting here.”  James reached his right arm over, tapping at a point just beyond the outer edge of his left clavicle.

Clearing his throat and nodding, Q scooted a bit forward, opting to rise up on his knees even as James curled practiced fingers in against his own tanned skin.  Where before there had been nothing to indicate anything irregular, a seam began to form, as James’ fingernails found it and began peeling.  It really was a very high-class fleshcoat, and Q lamented anew for having damaged it.  “Here, let me,” Q offered, remorseful, and James let him without a fight.  Both of James’ hands lowered to his lap while Q took up the rubbery fake skin in his grip, very carefully pulling back as it disengaged from the mechanical workings beneath.  

Q’s breath caught at the sight of it.  

Back aboard the Regial, Q had commented that James’ arm was superior work, what with how it could connect to other computer systems, but somehow he still hadn’t been prepared to see something this sophisticated.  Perhaps it was because the arm was attached to a man who was so very unsophisticated…  Regardless, Q was now marveling at a truly impressive piece of tech, and he might have forgotten his task entirely had not the fleshcoat suddenly snagged in place.  With a jolt, Q really looked at what he was doing instead of the prosthetic arm in general, and saw that the fake skin had obviously been melted down into the gouge made by his lightsaber.  Blushing again in embarrassment, Q levitated over a small laser-cutter, murmuring, “Sorry.  I’m going to have to cut away the edge of this.”

The blond Stormtrooper took the surprisingly well, waving off Q’s concern with a brushing motion of his real hand.  “It’s not the first time it’s been damaged. Just try to salvage as much as you can - I don’t know what kind of additional supplies we’ll be able to get our hands on, that are compatible with my arm, at least.”

Q hummed his sincere agreement, realizing that the downside of a prosthetic as sophisticated as this was that finding spare parts would be harder.  Fortunately, in the supply bag, he’d already seen a can of spray-on fleshcoat - much cheaper than what James had, but serviceable in a pinch.  Thankfully, while James’ prosthetic was very real-looking and high-tech, it didn’t seem like anyone had bothered to give it anything more than the basic sensory functions, because James didn’t flinch or show any signs of discomfort as Q cut away at the fake skin until he could remove the fleshcoat on his upper arm entirely.  Placing the flexible covering to one side, Q turned back to get his first unimpeded look at the inner workings of James’ left arm. 

“It’s gorgeous,” he was barely aware of saying out loud.  Surprisingly, James made a noise in his throat that actually sounded like surprise.  Q looked up at him guardedly, defensive in the wake of his statement.  “What?” 

Unexpectedly, James looked a bit uncomfortable now.  “That’s not usually what most people say, is all,” he admitted awkwardly.  James had lifted his right hand to rub at his shoulder, where metal met flesh.  Only now did Q look, and realizing that the fleshcoat’s removal had revealed extensive scarring.  Q wondered just what sort of incident had led to the loss of James’ arm, and how close he’d come to losing far more than just a limb.  By now, the Stormtrooper was putting on a crooked smile, infusing something teasing, playful, and to Q’s ear, false, into his voice, “I mean, the rest of me has been called gorgeous on numerous occasions, so if anything I’m a bit offended that you only love my mechanical bits.”

“I actually find the scars a bit endearing, too,” Q found himself saying without quite knowing why.  He kept his eyes focused on where metal met skin, curves of silver, grey, and matte-black abruptly ending where twisted scar-tissue began.  He therefore didn’t look to see what expression James was giving him, but he did see those synthesized muscles shift, those living fingers twitch in brief surprise.  “It’s proof that the trouble you get into is at least survivable, if not entirely sane,” he finished drolly.

It was a surprisingly pleasant relief to hear James let out his breath in a bark of laughter.  Q chanced a glance up, smiling himself.  He was met by a more sincere, crooked grin and amused blue eyes.  “Hey, I’ve kept us alive this long, haven’t I?”

“Despite leading us into a solar storm, yes.”

“There’s no pleasing you!” James looked away with a dramatic huff, and with that, the atmosphere grew more natural and relaxed.  Q found that he was still fighting a smirk as he looked back down to his work. 

Even underneath the fleshcoat, the prosthetic was designed very similar to a human musculature, although Q could see that it was well armored, too - except where Q’s lightsaber had turned it to slag.  He winced, leaning close and prodding carefully at the damaged bits, admitting to himself that it had been a close call.  Had he been able to put a bit more force into his strike, he’d have easily dug deep enough to cut some of the more delicate wiring and mechanical workings.  Q didn’t realize how much closer he was leaning as he used his little laser-cutter to remove damaged components, until he recognized an increase in his own body temperature.  It took him a good heartbeat or two before he realized that he was only getting warmer because he was basking in the radiant heat of a nearby, half-naked body.  Q jumped in surprised and yipped involuntarily, nearly knocking his head against James’ chin and then nearly falling back on his own arse.  Now blushing bright red with embarrassment, Q mumbled swift apologies, but thankfully James didn’t take the opportunity to tease. 

Instead, the man once again reached up with his good hand to touch the connecting point of his false arm to his body.  “Here, how about I make this easier for you,” he offered.  Belatedly, Q noted that James did not look embarrassed.  If anything, there was a tiny smile just flirting with the corner of the man’s mouth, but it was too well controlled for Q to read anything into it. Before Q could try to decipher it in any case, he was distracted by a small click and a whir - he looked over just in time to see James disengage the entire prosthetic.  As the arm released, leaving just a metal disk imbedded in James’ skin as a permanent connecting port, the Stormtrooper made a pained face. 

Hurrying forward to take some of the weight of the arm now that it wasn’t attached to anything, Q asked, a bit stunned, “Does it hurt?”

Already James’ expression was easing out, becoming merely rueful as he handed over his arm entirely to Q.  “Not really - it’s just a bit odd to suddenly have all of the input from my arm disappear.  Seeing as I’m barely aware of that input on a conscious level normally, the doctors back in the First Order say that it’s basically psychosomatic.  Putting it back on hurts worse.”

Q wanted to apologize, and say that James could have left the arm in place… but at the same time, Q knew himself too well.  He’d have gotten distracted again, and probably would have ended up in James’ lap at some point, all because he’d been seduced by the tech connected to the man’s body.  This was far less humiliating, and he was more than a little bit grateful that James had foreseen issues and made an effort to avoid them.  Instead, Q murmured a quiet but sincere thank you, then added, “I’ll try to reattach it carefully when I’m done.”

“So long as you get it patched up, that’s all that matters,” James deflected mildly, but he did give a nod as if accepting the thanks.  The man looked odd this way, now lacking one arm, but something about him remained unchanged as he shifted to lean nonchalantly back against the wall to just watch Q work.  Even with one arm absent save for scars that stretched towards his clavicle and left pectoral, the man looked confidant and idly powerful.  “But if you have plans of beating me over the head with my own arm, just know that I will be very displeased.”

Unable to help it, Q snorted an indelicate laugh.  “Oh, don’t worry - I’m much more of a runner.  As you’ve said, I’m not all that good at fighting yet,” Q found himself joking back dryly, “I’m far more likely to just take your arm and run.”  Despite his words, he was already pulling one of his blankets out onto the floor to create a work-station, laying out the prosthetic arm and keeping anything he removed organized. 

“I’d be obliged to chase you.”

“Wouldn’t it be terribly embarrassing for the Ceklin captain to find you running shirtless and one-armed through his house?”

James put on a wolfish grin, parrying back swiftly, “Not so embarrassing as finding yourself caught by a shirtless and one-armed man.  Your pride would never recover, I’m sure.”

“You’re insufferable.”  Q was fighting the urge to laugh, not wanting to inflate the man’s ego any further than it already was.  “I can’t understand how you survived in the Order for this long.”

“Mostly, I did it by keeping my mouth shut.”

“Quite a hardship, I imagine,” Q replied sarcastically, starting to peel back more and more of the prosthetics outer pieces to get a good look at the damage within.

The easy banter continued on as Q worked, somehow never abating nor ever leaving the realm of idle playfulness.  They spoke of nothing important, and yet it never grew dull.  It was also, admittedly, one of the few times Q would remember losing himself in a technological task… but somehow bringing someone else with him.  

~^~

Chapter Text

James usually did his level best to keep his prosthetic arm firmly attached.  It was even fair to say that the replacement arm was the biggest gift that he’d received from MI6, and the main thing that had won over his loyalty to them - without their subtle influence, he probably would have been given a subpar prosthetic, if he’d been given one at all.  It wasn’t exactly unheard of for the First Order to simply ‘let men go’ if they were too badly injured to be useful, which described James’ condition perfectly at the time.  He’d grown quite attached to the prosthetic since then, and resented having it removed, but right now… it wasn’t too bad.  Sitting in a little room in the middle of nowhere with his troubleseeker sense all but silent, watching as a clever young Jedi poured over his prosthetic arm like it held all the secrets in the world, James felt almost content.  Bond was able to relax against the wall, resisting the urge to rub at his empty metal socket and instead letting his remaining arm drape across his knees, just watching Q work.  It had been a wise decision to remove the limb, he was certain now, since Q was bent so close to his work that he’d have been all by straddling James by this point, if the arm was still attached.

The ex-Stormtrooper paused at that thought, blinking at the far wall and frowning.  Perhaps he should have kept the arm on after all…  It wasn’t like James hadn’t developed a taste for all genders during his time in the First Order, where the best one could usually hope for was an eager body in a tight spot.

Q was a grudging body at best, however, so James pushed his libido down with a sigh, contenting himself with just watching and marvelling at Q’s work.  Because while the boffin seemed to be rather a novice at all things Jedi, he seemed very accomplished at all things tech-related.  In fact, he seemed to even become better with the Force when he had his hands buried in circuitry, because there were tools levitating everywhere by this point, and it was like watching extra, invisible hands at work next to Q’s flesh-and-blood hands.  Between bantering with Q, James idly watched the door, glad that it was late and that the Ceklin captain seemed to respect privacy.  James liked the Ceklin well enough, but wasn’t sure how things would go if Q’s Jedi status became known - people had pretty polarized responses to that topic.  James was surprised by the sharp flare of protectiveness he felt behind his breastbone, but told himself that it was because of his position as part of MI6.  He was under orders to be protective of Jedis.

It had nothing to do with the fact that Q was snarky and stubborn, and adorable and awkward, and dangerous and vulnerable all at once.  

“Okay, I think I’ve done all I can,” Q dragged James back from his thoughts, sitting back and pushing his mop of hair back from his forehead.  At the same moment, all of the tools he’d been levitating with the force thumped down to the blanket he was using as a work-space.  This startled Q, but not James, because the Stormtrooper had been curiously monitoring the floating items all along.  After a few bewildered blinks at his own seemingly-unconscious actions, Q gestured belatedly to his work.  “I’ve replaced what I could and jury-rigged what I couldn’t, so hopefully the technical components are working again.  The spray-on stuff can’t hold a candle to the actual fleshcoat, though, so basically…”  Q lifted up the arm carefully, frowning in displeasure at the damaged area - which was indeed still visible, even after the fleshcoat had been put back on, and a second-rate, spray-on fleshcoat used to fill in the gap.  “Basically, it looks like a bad scar,” Q finished, clearly not happy.

“Good, then it’ll match the rest of me,” James dismissed easily, smiling as Q jerked his head up in questioning surprise.  Bond just reached for his prosthetic, hefting and manoeuvering it easily even as the appendage flopped around on loose joints.  “I always knew I was just too handsome to be real, so this will add authenticity,” he joked grandly.  Q made a scoffing, choking noise, and that was all the distraction James needed to keep his mind off the impending pain - so he shoved the prosthetic against the permanent metal socket, feeling the initial magnetic locks drag it the rest of the way into place.  Despite his best efforts, James’ face twisted into a snarl as he felt it connect fully, everything coming online like an electric jolt.  This was why he didn’t take his arm off often - not because it made him vulnerable, not because he was self-conscious of how lopsided and crippled he looked without it, but because he hated the sensation of reattaching it.

He didn’t realize that Q had gone quiet and leaned closer to him, slender hands clenched atop his thighs as he knelt, until the Jedi spoke up quietly, “Are you all right?”

“Fine,” James snipped, his first impulse to be defensive and hide the weakness.  When Q flinched a little at his tone, however, the ex-Stormtrooper softened and forced out a bit more information and politeness, “Nothing abnormal.  It just feels like a cross between an electric shock and…”  He cast about for a way to describe it, even as he gave his prosthetic arm a flex, reacquainting himself with it and ensuring that it all worked.  “Like when a limb falls asleep, and then you get pins and needles when it wakes up.  Only this is condensed into a second as the sensors between my brain and the prosthetic hook up again.”

Q’s eyes were wide and curious.  “That sounds-”

“Like a bitch and a half?”

“-Unpleasant,” Q finished his sentence dryly.  He seemed to accept that James was fine, though, sitting back and beginning to put away his tools - by hand instead of with the Force, James noticed.  He also noticed how meticulous the young Jedi was, even carefully collecting the damaged bits of wiring and metal that he’d removed, and thoughtfully checking each tool.  “I might actually be able to do something about that,” Q started saying conversationally, and James cocked his head, “There’s at least one other tool I might need, and I’d have to check and see if my other repairs hold up first, but I actually have some idea what might be causing your discomfort.”  Q gestured towards James’ shoulder with a pair of pliers.  “There’s no need for reattachment feedback like that.”

James was carefully pressing down the edges of the fleshcoat, so that the limb blended seamlessly with the rest of his body again, the scars from the initial injury disappearing.  “Are you just buttering me up so that I’ll show you where your lightsaber is?” he finally guessed.

Q’s head snapped around to him immediately, his expression quite affronted.  It was cute as fuck - but then again, James’ genetic disposition meant that he thought hungry Hyrrokin Charhounds were cute as fuck, too, even if they were trying to chew his leg off.  “No!”

“Good, because you’re not getting it back until after we contact MI6,” James returned glibly.  Q’s expression got more adorably furious; James’ troubleseeker sense starting humming at the back of his head, sounding like a lullaby.  Unfortunately, his mood soured a bit as he then pressed the fingers of his right hand to the wrist of his left - the gesture that usually got him in contact with MI6.  He felt a bit of a buzz go up the rudimentary sensory system in his arm, but no response, even after he lifted his left palm and spoke near it.  “M, come in.”  Nothing, although sometimes M (or the select others she trusted to monitor the comms) was not in a position to answer.  “I’ll have to wait for a reply, or try for a physical dataport in Scasla,” James said, disappointed to not get this cleared up immediately. 

Q had been watching all of this with more avid interest than anything else, but James had to burst his bubble: “That means no lightsaber for you tonight.  I don’t want that thing back in your hands until I’m sure that we can both trust each other, and that means proving to you that my story is true.”  James balled up his shirt to make a small pillow out of it, and stretched back on his sleeping pallet, finishing with one raised eyebrow in Q’s direction, “Unless you’ve decided that you believe and trust me now.”

Still kneeling next to the bag of tools between their beds, Q looked like he was presently tempted to hit James with the first heavy object that came to his fingertips.  Instead of answering, he glared. 

“Still a distrustful little shit then.  Got it,” James answered his own question, settling on his back and closing his eyes.  His troubleseeker sense gave an instant shriek of warning, and he brought up a hand to catch a flying tool in one hand.  Opening one eye, James couldn’t even recognize what the tool was, but he reminded Q without rancour, “I’m part Shezarand, remember?”

“What you are is exasperating,” Q grumped back, but finally moved away from his tools (i.e., improvised weaponry) and sat on his own bed.  James tossed the item back into the still-open bag while Q curled his arms around his drawn up knees and just looked generally cranky and despondent.  It was telling, however, that his green eyes kept snatching quick glances at James’ naked torso, the room’s artificial light more than enough for James to pick up a bit of embarrassed pink in Q’s cheeks.

Of course, that just encouraged James to show off.  He folded both arms behind his head and gave his body a little stretch, with the pretence of getting comfortable.  Q’s staring grew just a bit more pronounced, and it improved James’ mood immensely.  “Cheer up, Q.  Tomorrow we’ll go to Scasla, I’ll contact MI6 and allay your suspicious disposition, and then I’ll promptly give you back your incredibly dangerous toy.”  

“Previously, the order of operations was that I’d fixed your arm, you’d tell me where the fuck you hid my lightsaber, and then we’d go to Scasla,” Q muttered.

James gave him his most innocent look, even though he knew he was being a bastard.  “Did I say that?”

Q made a huffing noise and rolled his eyes, before also dropping down onto his sleeping pallet - where he promptly flipped over onto his side, back purposefully to James.  It was so much like the actions of a huffy teenager that James found himself smiling.  Q also looked so sincerely unhappy that he had to be upset, though, so James softened a bit and sighed.  “Q?”

There was a pause in which it seemed like the Jedi might not answer.  But finally he grumbled, “What?” without turning over.

“I really will give it back tomorrow.  I don’t think I can keep it hidden from you indefinitely anyway.”

“Oh really?” was the bitter retort.  “Even though I’m just a poor excuse for a Jedi who couldn’t find his own arse with the Force?”

“I never said that,” James made clear, even as he found himself caught up in the mental image of that…  He gave his head a physical shake, realizing he had to stay on topic, and that he didn’t need to be thinking about Q’s arse, in connection with the Force or otherwise.  “I did say that you were a pup, but that was mostly just teasing.”  Looking at the back of Q’s head, and his tensely arched shoulders, James decided to also admit, “I like to rile people up.  Starting fights is sort of in my nature.”

Q relaxed minutely.  “So this isn’t just some elaborate ruse to string me along for eternity?”

“I’m too impatient for any lengthy plan like that,” James replied, “Sounds boring.  Not my style.”  That last part earned him a little cough of noise that might have been a stifled laugh; James smiled, counting that as a win.  “So no, this isn’t just me putting you off indefinitely.  I’m just really not keen on arming you until I can be sure that you see me as an ally and not a kidnapper.”

“And here I thought you liked trouble.”

Q’s tone was very, very dry, but James was beginning to recognize that as Q’s brand of humour, and it made something pleased swell within his breast.  “I like trouble, but I also like not being dead,” James clarified.  “It’s a fine line, but still an important distinction, I’ve found.”  He watched Q’s shoulders give a little jerk, and suspected that the younger man was trying to hide laughter now.  

“And what if I find it while you’re sleeping?”  Despite the threat, Q’s voice sounded lighter, more like their banter from earlier.

James took it with a grin, volleying back, “Well, then, you’d better turn the lights off, or you’ll have no chance of that.”

Now Q definitely was snickering quietly, and without so much as a twitch from the young Jedi, the lights winked off.  James lay where he was, feeling content, and when Q drifted off very quickly instead of making good on his threat, James settled into sleep soon, too.  He liked this comfortable feeling, and hoped that M got back to him soon, if only so that James could find out what it was like to deal with this young Jedi minus all of the mistrust still between them.

~^~

Q was vaguely aware of someone nudging him, but he was cosy and warm, and he shoved back without thinking.  It didn’t really register that he hadn’t used his hands to do the shoving until he heard, in Bond’s distinct voice, “Use the Force on me, will you, you little brat?”  Wakefulness came to Q in a rush, but not fast enough to avoid the pillow that thumped him full in the face.

Fighting his way free, Q found himself on the edge of the pallet he’d fallen asleep on, James standing over him, hands on hips.  The man had clearly been awake for a while, as he looked atrociously alert - and already dressed in tough, warm-looking trousers but also a sleeveless shirt that showed off the musculature of his shoulders and arms.  The effect was devastatingly attractive, and Q reflexively curled his body around the pillow he’d been attacked with, realizing that now would not be a good time to start advertising his morning wood. 

“Good,” James declared, entirely too boisterous for… whatever time of morning it was, “Now that you’re awake, you can get dressed and help.  The captain and I have been trying to get Glaurung outfitted, but even though he seems to understand more Common than he lets on, I don’t speak a lick of Cekl, so we have to stop constantly to place charades.”  Without further warning, James reached down, catching Q by the front of his top and pulling him upwards.  Starting to wonder if he was still asleep and this was one of those dizzying, embarrassing sort of nightmares, Q squeaked as he was removed from his warm bed and propped on his feet.  James barely grunted with the effort, real arm and prosthetic one alike moving with ease despite Q’s weight.  “Chop-chop, Q - the sooner Glaurung is ready to fly, the sooner you get breakfast.”

This was what hell was like, Q was sure of it.  “What-?  Ready to fly… breakfast?” he stammered, even as he realized his balance wasn’t so good yet, and he nearly got his feet tangled up in his blankets.  Thankfully, James still had one hand on him, and that was just enough to keep Q from toppling over in a dazed heap.  “And what about MI6?”

“No reply yet,” James said, tone quieter and a bit more sober.  He let go of Q’s shirt entirely now, and gave the Jedi’s shoulder a squeeze.  “But if I haven’t heard anything by the time we’ve eaten, then we can troop off to Scasla for more supplies, and I’ll try to reach them again.”

“Then my lightsaber?” Q asked hopefully, if not quite eloquently.

James’ smile was small, but seemed genuine.  “Then your lightsaber,” he confirmed with a nod.  

Q was left alone for a bit then, to fumble his way through a quick wash (the Ceklin captain thankfully had shown his guests the bathing facilities the night before, and they were still near enough to the river of Scasla that water was plentiful and piped in) and into some new clothes.  James had gotten his size pretty good, and soon Q was outside, bundled up against the Rankatti winds.  He caught sight of James quickly, carrying a crate of something, still without sleeves on - as if the biting gusts didn’t affect him.  Then again, Q had been close enough to the Stormtrooper to feel just how hot the man ran, and wasn’t that a thought Q didn’t need to dwell on right now…  Pushing the memory firmly aside, Q hurried to make himself useful, finding the Ceklin as well. 

With Q both translating and assisting, they did a lot of work on the Nebelung ship in a short span of time - it felt like a lot had been done already, and Q wondered just how early the other two had been up.  The day was still young as it was.  It helped, of course, that the Ceklin had kept his ship in good, flying condition despite the fact that he hadn't been able to properly fly her since his injury.

They stopped to eat at about the same time Q’s stomach couldn’t stand fasting any longer, and when Q looked over at James, raising a significant, questioning eyebrow… the man gave his head a shake.  No MI6 yet.  Q was hopeful by this point that they actually existed, because as annoying as James Bond could be, he was coming to appreciate the man’s company.  If nothing else, Q obviously preferred the idea of travelling with an ally than with a man who was just pretending to be an ally.  

Once they finished eating, James asked Q to give the ex-captain directions to their stolen First Order ship.  “One way or another,” James said to Q in a rare solemn moment, “we can’t stay here long, so the sooner we hand over that ship and get Glaurung ready to leave the planet, the better.”  Q couldn’t disagree.

Therefore, it wasn’t long before everyone was heading out: the Ceklin off towards the Regial, Q and James towards Scasla with a final list of supplies… and the hope of communicating with the mysterious MI6.

It was a long walk, but they moved at a pace that Q could handle without trouble - in fact, thanks to all of the travelling he’d done with Eve, Q was in pretty decent shape, and had enough breath left over to converse.  So for most of the trek to Scasla, Q ended up asking James questions about his prosthetic arm and pondering different ways to handle the reattachment-feedback issue.  James clearly didn’t know all that much about the inner workings of his own arm, which was a bit of a travesty, but he knew enough to be a decent sounding-board while Q mused and rambled and basically thought out loud.  Plus, Bond was more than capable of speaking up and saying, “As the owner and user of this arm, that’s not bloody practical” when Q’s ideas went too far. 

Q was admittedly a bit tuckered out by the time they finally reached Scasla, but even if he hadn’t been, the ferry ride would have hushed him - because the river was truly a sight to behold, and no matter how many trade colonies he saw, they never ceased to impress him.  As was common with Jedi, Q and Eve had travelled a lot, often catching rides from planet to planet and stopping at many places very much like Scasla.  That didn’t mean the hustle and bustle of the place didn’t momentarily steal Q’s breath away, even as his rudimentary Force training had him feeling the buzz of life around him like a subsonic hum.  

“Q?”  James’ voice broke in.  The man had paused at Q’s shoulder, looking watchful and a bit concerned.  “All right?”

After another heartbeat to collect himself and pull his senses back in, Q nodded rapidly.  “I’m fine.  I suppose I’ve just been stuck with you for so long that I’m not used to civilized company,” he replied smoothly.

James just snorted and turned to start walking again, muttering under his breath, “Cheeky.”  

Pleased at his own successful teasing, Q stood still for just long enough to focus his senses, catching up with James as soon as he’d narrowed his attention to just the Stormtrooper’s life-force.  Usually, he’d do this with Eve, because it made everything else easier to block out and compartmentalize - like having a floatation device to make treading water easier in a turbulent sea.  Of course, with James, it felt a lot more like grabbing onto a shark, but still - so long as it kept Q afloat.  Being a Jedi really could be quite overwhelming, at least in Q’s experience.

Using the steady pulse of James’ life-force as a tether, Q avidly watched everything around him, identifying different species and castes and entities in general, picking up on snatches of languages - some familiar, some utterly alien.  Q rather wondered how James had handled the place when he’d come to Scasla the day before, since the Stormtrooper didn’t seem to have as broad a grasp of languages as Q did.  Looking back at the man now, there was no indication that he was uncomfortable, or even felt out of place, his stride even and smooth.  Bond had finally put on more layers of clothing so as not to freeze, but beneath it, Q had only seen the man strap on a few knives he’d bought off the Ceklin, meaning James was otherwise unarmed.  The man walked quite confidently regardless, as if he were actually used to sharing space with scores of different life-forms from across the galaxy.  It had to be an act, Q logically knew, since Stormtroopers were not well-socialized creatures - but it was a very good act.  Even Q himself was a bit awed whenever faced by new species. 

Even as Q thought that, his eye was being caught by a new face, and then another, although what he finally found his attention settling on was a droid.  Still keeping a portion of his mind focused on James’ life-force to keep track of his companion, Q slid through the crowd, indulging his curiosity a bit as he saw an android model that he didn’t recognize.  Some of it was hyper-realistic, like James’ arm, although once Q got closer he realized that the android was not as flashy a model as he’d expected.  In fact, on closer inspection, Q could see that only about three-fourths of its face was still intact, the fleshcoat having peeled away from its temple, cheekbone, and jaw on the right side, revealing the black, textured surface of mobile biomould.  Both eyes were intact, although faded and pale from sun-bleaching, and blinked at Q curiously from where the droid sat quietly at the corner of a nondescript shop.  The excitement and awe that Q had felt upon entering Scasla faded a bit, soured by a nameless sort of sadness as he looked at the android and noticed more and more hodge-podge parts, not quite hidden by ill-fitting clothes.  It looked like a second-hand doll, poorly dressed by a careless child.

“Q,” Bond’s voice drew the Jedi away from his thoughts.  He didn’t jump, as he’d sensed James coming up behind him like a pulse of energy.  “I thought you wanted to contact my people.  We’ll never get anything done if you wander off.”  

Still feeling melancholy in a nondescript way, Q gave his head a physical shake and turned back to James.  “I wasn’t wandering,” he defended, “I can keep track of you, you know.”  When the Stormtrooper just raised one questioning blond brow, Q gave him a significant look and said, “I may just be a pup, as you said, but I have some skills.”

That was enough for James to get the hint, understanding flashing in his pale-blue eyes, although it all transformed into a chuckle.  “Good to know you’re not entirely helpless,” he teased, then gave his prosthetic hand a restless flexing.  “Now, come on - someone’s answering our call, and I’d rather find someplace quiet where we can all have this long overdue chat.”

All other thoughts fled Q’s head as he realized that James was alluding to the mysterious MI6 - which meant soon there would be answers, and hopefully a returned lightsaber.  Without another word, James turned back into the crowd, and Q was hot on his heels this time. 

~^~

James had felt the telltale spark from his prosthetic arm - a sensation not unlike hitting the point of one’s elbow on something hard, making the nerve-endings tingle - that meant MI6 was requesting contact.  It was a convoluted system, which now allowed James to either ignore the signal or initiate the commlink on his end, depending on the riskiness of his present situation.  Considering the fact that MI6 lived clandestinely in the heart of the First Order, these precautions were frequently necessary.  Now, fortunately, James merely ignored the signal for as long as it took him and Q to find someplace quiet where they wouldn’t be overheard.  James managed to find a little terraced eatery, and the two men were able to use their combined skills to find an unoccupied spot on the rooftop of the place, after grabbing themselves drinks to ward off any wait-staff.  James liked the spot because his troubleseeker sense was nearly silent as he sat there - Q piped up to confirm that it was a good location, because apparently the little Jedi could sense lifeforms.  “There’s no one up here, and everyone seems to just meander past the stairwell,” Q said, sharing the assessment like it was normal. When James stared at him, Q’s cheeks had coloured with the most adorable flush, and the Jedi had frowned and defended, “I told you I have some skills!”

“And I believe you now,” James placated, still a bit dumbfounded.  Very belatedly, he realized that he needed to review his prior knowledge about Jedis, because Q was just full of surprises.  Sitting down on the bench that lined the roof’s mud-and-dab wall, James beckoned Q over.  The Jedi was visibly curious, so James wasted no time in pressing the fingers of his right hand to a specific point in his left wrist.  “M?”

“It’s high time you answered me, James,” a familiar voice immediately snapped back, and even though the sound coming from the tiny speakers in James’ palm was not very loud, he could pick up the mixture of annoyance and relief in M’s voice.  Q had to lean in close to hear, and James let him.  “I hope you have a good explanation for your disappearance, and the chaos you’ve left in your wake.”

Unable to fight back a smirk, James drawled, “What did I miss?  Have I been declared dead yet?”

“Sadly, no.”  And that really was sad, because being declared dead would mean fewer people hunting them down.  James curled his lip in a silent growl while M went on tartly, “You’ve been declared rogue, although the details of your mutiny are being heavily guarded.  What did you do?”

She sounded so accusatory that James nearly laughed.  God, he missed her already - probably because he was part Shezarand, and therefore had an unhealthy attachment to dangerous things…  “Oh, you know, just like I’ve always threatened,” he said jovially, deciding on a whim to joke, “I ran off with a pretty little brunet and the rest is history.”  He cut a glance up at Q just in time to watch that blush return, this time tenfold as Q gave him a startled, scandalized look. 

“Bloody hell,” James could just barely hear M swearing through the speakers.  More loudly, and with an attempt to return to a more professional tone, the head of MI6 went on, “Oh really?  And did that necessitate attacking fellow Stormtroopers and stealing a ship?”

“What can I say?  I had to impress my darling.”  This time, Q punched him in the shoulder.  Unfortunately for Q, it was James’ prosthetic shoulder; the ex-Stormtrooper barely felt it.  Q ended up hissing and shaking out his hand, finding out that while the fleshcoat felt real, the ‘muscle’ beneath it was far more dense and resistant than the average arm.  

“007, for your sake, I hope that you’re lying, because right now I’m very tempted to locate you myself so that the First Order’s hunters can find you.”

Because most of M’s threats held a surprising amount of truth in them (that woman did not bluff), James eased back on the humour a little bit.  He didn’t notice the way Q quirked an eyebrow at the numerical designation M used.  “All right, all right, no need to get stroppy.  If you must know, the pretty face I ran off with also happens to be a Jedi.”

“Oh thank god,” he once again just barely heard M say as she probably pulled back from the communicator.  Less angry now and far more serious, M began speaking again, “Does the First Order know that you’ve got your hands on a Jedi?”

“I’m pretty sure there were enough lightsaber marks left behind to paint a clear picture.”  

“Damn,” M said succinctly, but went on without missing a beat, “I’m afraid I might not be able to offer much assistance at this time.  You’ve really stirred up a hornets’ nest, 007, and while I’ll do everything I can-”

“You can’t jeopardize all of MI6 for me, I know,” James replied without rancour.  He knew how this job worked. 

“Correct.  Now, report - what is your situation?  Don’t give me your location.  I don’t want to know that information.”

M didn’t want to know because, ultimately, none of them were safe from being found out an interrogated.  Meeting Q’s watchful eyes and shrugging, James replied, “We’re not bad off.  It was a bit of a rocky start, but I think we’re starting to trust each other a bit - enough so that we’ll soon be leaving our stolen ship behind and will keep moving from planet to planet until we can be sure we don’t have stormtroopers on our tail.  You said they had hunters after us?”

 “Bounty hunters.  In hindsight, I should have realized that you’d found a Jedi based upon the First Order’s reaction - they’re pulling out all the stops to find you.”

“Well, then I’ll just have to do my best to stay un-found.”  Switching to a more serious tone again, James asked, “Tell me, M, have you heard anything, by chance, of a second Jedi?”  

Q immediately stiffened next to James, but M’s reply was cool, “Seeing as I hadn’t heard about just the one that you found, no, I most certainly haven’t heard of a second.”

“Good,” James said bluntly, “Keep it that way.”  He watched as Q relaxed. 

Smart woman that she was, M didn’t press for more details.  “Understood.  I’ll try to keep in touch with any developments on this end - for now, just know that you have a bounty on your head, and probably on the head of your companion, too.  I hope she knows just what kind of trouble she’s signed up for.”

Grinning at the accidental misgendering, James winked in Q’s direction, getting a scoff and an eye-roll in return.  “Oh, I think everyone is well aware.”

“Let me talk to her,” M demanded, clearly fed up with James’ shenanigans.  

“I live to serve.”  With that reply, James turned his hand, startling Q by pressing his palm almost up against Q’s right ear.  When the Jedi instinctively sidled away, mistrustful, James’ other hand cupped the opposite side of Q’s neck to hold him still.  The dark-haired young man froze in place and blinked, then his eyes went unfocused as he presumably listened to something M was saying.  James just waited patiently, content to just watch the rooftop access for any visitors while feeling the quick, steady thump of Q’s pulse beneath his right hand.  

Q answered in a few short ‘yeses’ and ‘noes’ that gave away nothing, then said with a sort of strained dignity, “And despite what Bond has been intimating, I prefer male pronouns” before reaching up and gripping James’ left wrist to push the prosthetic hand away.  “She has a few last things to say to you.”

Regretting that he no longer had an excuse to touch (Q’s skin was warm and soft, and maybe James liked making the Jedi flustered), James pulled both hands back and resumed his previous posture with his ‘speaking’ hand in between them.  M’s voice immediately piped through, full of steel, “You only have one order now, 007: you protect that Jedi.  I don’t care what you have to do, or what you have to endure - we don’t have enough Jedi in this universe right now to afford losing even one.”  Q twitched in surprise, mouth opening a bit in a little ‘o’ but no sound coming out.  James merely sat and listened, accepting the words as they came, “You’re one of the best but also one of the most troublesome agents I’ve ever trained, but right now I can’t stress to you just how much I need you to be serious about this.  I know that you have a problem with authority-”  Now Q raised just one eyebrow, looking both questioning and amused, but James ignored him, and Q sobered up fast as M finished, “-But from here on out, that Jedi is your first and only loyalty.  If I ever hear that he’s dead and you’re alive, do you know how unhappy I’ll be with you?”

“I’ll never find out, because that won’t happen,” James said staidly, not meeting Q’s eyes as he gave a small but serious nod, as if M could see.  

“Good.  We have an understanding.  I’ll contact you again when I have more to report, or support to offer.”  And with that, the connection was severed, and M was gone. 

~^~

Chapter Text

“So,” James said, when Q didn’t speak for a long time, merely staring at James’ hand and feeling M’s words rock through him, “do you believe me now?”

Q’s brain kept replaying how M, the head of MI6 and apparently the woman who had gotten James to turn traitor on the First Order, had basically told James to keep him safe or die trying.  And James had agreed without hesitation.  Feeling very deeply rattled, Q somehow managed to focus on the question enough to nod and say quietly, “Yes, I think I believe you now.”

“No more urge to kill me in my sleep and run off on your own?”

“No, I can see the usefulness in sticking with you now.”  Because James had agreed to tie his life to Q’s, to keep him safe no matter what came.  It was both a humbling and horrifying thought.  

Despite the gravity of the situation, James seemed his normal unflappable self.  His voice was light as he said, “Good.  That means I can stop carting this around.”  And with that, he opened up his jacket, pulling it open so that Q could see the inner lining, and a holster which contained…

Suddenly, Q stopped thinking about all of this MI6-bodyguard business and straightened with a little flush of anger.  “You had my saber on you this whole time, you ba-!?” he started to shriek, only to have James crowd up to him and put a hand over his mouth, the other hand cupping the back of Q’s head so that he couldn’t wriggle free and keep yelling.  Q was suddenly very tempted to reach for the lightsaber and turn it on right now, just to stab Bond. 

“Quiet down, will you?” James hissed at him, although they both knew that the rooftop was still deserted.  Q glared over the Stormtrooper’s hand, and when James finished his scan of the area to meet his gaze, the agent’s smile was a bit abashed… but only a bit.  “We’re trying to fly under the radar, remember?” he added, but he also removed his hands, although not before giving Q’s head a little shake.  In retaliation, Q opened his hand and called his lightsaber to it fast enough to make James jump, startled.

“You’re an arse,” Q said succinctly, before turning to find a good place to hide the saber on his person.  

“Hey, at least I didn’t leave it back on the ship,” James defended.  He stood, watching Q until the lightsaber was tucked away, at which point he just gave an approving nod and went on, “Come on, I need to buy a weapon before I start to feel inadequate.  And now’s the time if you want to buy more tools for yourself.”

~^~

James had scouted out a likely place to buy a serviceable gun last time he’d been here - ironically, it was near the same place that Q had wandered off to earlier.  Of course, it took them an age and a half to get there, because Q found a stall selling tools along the way, and the only thing that kept Q from buying the entire stock was because James said that Q would have to carry anything he bought himself.  The Jedi got a bit more frugal after that.  

The owner of the weapons-stall looked human, although all that mattered to James was that he spoke Commons.  As James approached and started talking to him, feeling out the situation and hinting at what he needed, he focused on his troubleseeker sense, and decided that the low hum of it was acceptable - and reasonable, seeing as he was facing a weapons-dealer.  Turning on the charm a bit, James began to subtly make it clear that he wasn’t really interested in legalities, merely good fire-power, and was rewarded by a relaxing of the other man’s frame and a further quieting of James’ troubleseeker sense.  First impressions made, soon James (with Q in tow) was invited further in to inspect all of the inventory.  As with many of the shops in Scasla James had noticed, there was always more behind the make-shift wooden fronts - and usually the best stuff was hidden beneath awnings or inside the old buildings each shop attached to.  “Catchpenny!” the merchant, who’d given the name Kristatos, barked as he made to leave his shop-front.

James was a bit surprised to see a slim droid immediately dart into view.  After a beat, James realized that he recognized it - a droid so patched up with different parts that it was all but impossible to determine its original model, and Q had been staring at it earlier.  

When the droid’s pale eyes gave an approximation of a human blink, Kristatos went on bluntly, “Anyone comes by, you holler for me - and if anything goes missing, I’ll take it out of your tin-can ass.”

The droid had a remarkably humanoid face; even broken as it was, part of the fleshcoat missing, it was probably the most expensive bit of machinery on the droid.  “Yes, sir,” the droid spoke in a soft, obedient whir.  Clearly, more attention had been paid to Catchpenny’s face than to upkeep on his vocal servers, as the vibration nearly created a double-harmonic.  James frowned and flexed his left hand, suddenly incredibly glad that he had Q and his technological skills on hand.  

“Now, where were we?” Kristatos’s pleasant smile return as he began opening up drawers and pulling sheets back from shelves and crates.  Ah, yes, James had definitely come to the right place.  His troubleseeker sense never steered him wrong when it came to finding good weapons.

His troubleseeker sense was also having a much easier time following Q around now that the Jedi had his lightsaber back.  The saber was enough of a threat, even dormant, that it was like a beacon.  James wondered if this was what Q’s Jedi senses were like, tracking life-forces, but it was likely that an ex-Stormtrooper like James would never understand a fraction of that.  Nonetheless, Kristatos quickly dismissed Q as nothing but a tagalong, and while James kept up a lively conversation with the weapons-dealer, he set aside part of his attention to just monitor that Q was nearby.  When he sensed Q’s (or rather the saber’s) presence retreating, James turned around, only to find Q crouching down in the open doorway.  Through it, the inside of the stall was visible, where Catchpenny was sitting and fulfilling his duties as watchdog.  Q looked to be eyeing the android from up close now, and as James smiled, amused, he thought he caught Q’s mouth move, too - talking to it.  Q’s love of tech was swiftly becoming as adorable as it was impressive, Bond had to admit.

“I see you friend there has a taste for droids,” Kristatos commented, noticing the direction of James’ attention.  The weapons-seller wasn’t talking quietly, but if Q heard, he was ignoring the fact that he was being talked about.  Leaning a hip against the table and grinning, the rawboned humanoid went on, “You know, I could give you a good deal - you buy enough wares from me, and I’ll throw in a little fun for your companion.”  When James raised an eyebrow, not following, Kristatos smiled in a significant way and elaborated proudly, “Catchpenny might be useless for just about anything, but he’s got all the parts to make him a good pleasure-droid.”

Although James was keeping his attention on Kristatos, out of the corner of his eye he saw Q flinch and stiffen.  So the Jedi was listening after all.  The quickest of glances showed that Q hadn’t quite turned to acknowledge the conversation, but James could see enough of his profile to distinguish a painfully bright blush.  Catchpenny hadn’t moved, but while the droid had mimicked human mannerisms decently well so far, the stiffness of his slender limbs created an inhuman stillness now.  Only the ruined part of his face was visible now as he dutifully looked out at the stall.  

“I don’t think my partner is into that kind of thing,” James tried to diffuse while still keeping things friendly.

Kristatos didn’t take the hint.  “Hells, if your boy doesn’t like cock, Catchpenny has other parts.  I’ve tuned him up for some pretty kinky alien shit over the years-”  James was sure he saw the droid actually flinch this time.  “-So whatever someone’s into, Catchpenny has you covered.  Just because I’ve gotten into a habit of calling it a ‘him’ doesn’t mean Catchpenny can’t meet your need for some good pussy, too.”  Now Kristatos winked, grizzled face stretching into a smirk.  “If a person is willing to pay, of course.”

While full-blooded Shezarand were reputed to be telepathic, James hadn’t inherited any of that… and yet he was very, very sure that Q was not enjoying this conversation.  At first, that made James want to tease him, but something about the way Q was holding himself so awkwardly and purposefully not speaking up made Bond rethink that impulse.  Plus, the thought of Catchpenny actually being Kristatos’s whore for extra cash just sort of made James sad - because while Kristatos had reputably been augmenting this droid to provide good sex, he’d clearly not taken care of it otherwise.  Catchpenny’s face alone was proof of that.  

Still not wanting to make waves, James pasted on a smile and turned back to Kristatos to say smoothly, “How about we start with the guns I need, and see where negotiations go from there, yes?”  

Kristatos turned back to James, and perhaps sensed a bit of Bond’s reticence, because he frowned and grew less jovial.  “You won’t find a better bot in all of Scasla,” he bragged instead of going along with James.

This was growing tedious.  Bond really had just come here for guns, and even if he did think that Q wanted to have a roll between the sheets with a pleasure-bot, they didn’t have time for that.  “My friend is actually a virgin,” he made up on the spot, and now he could see Q turn to him.  Bond idly wondered if he’d hit too close to the truth.  

“All the better - living beings mess things up,” Kristatos was encouraged instead of dissuaded, and Bond found that he didn’t like the way the weapons-seller said ‘living being’ so exclusively.  James hadn’t been brought up with much respect for droids, but even he had to admit that they had a rather eerie lifelike quality to them, even the least humanoid models.  “Whereas I’ve downloaded subroutines for Catchpenny over there, so he won’t forget all the right things to do.  Best way to go for a virgin, really.”

James was beginning to feel a pressure in the room.  His troubleseeker sense was spiking a bit, all from the direction of Q, and something rattled as it rose and dropped a centimetre.  Realizing that they were about to have an angry Jedi on their hands, James dropped the friendly act entirely and growled, “Do you want to sell me a gun or not?”  Kristatos looked startled by whatever new expression had taken over James’ face.  The ex-Stormtrooper went on coldly, “I can always take my business elsewhere.”

Something else clattered, and this time Kristatos noticed, head jerking to the side and bewilderment joining the other emotions on his face.  It didn’t seem like he saw anything particularly alarming, though, as after a moment of frowning around the room, he turned his attention back to James without ever fixing his eyes on Q.  It took monumental effort for James not to turn and glare at Q himself, and there was a definite lecture in the future about when not to use Jedi powers.  “Fine, fine,” Kristatos said, seeming to be unsettled at long last, and therefore a bit more amenable, “If guns are all you’re here for, then I’ve got plenty to give you.  You were looking at that Slifka model, yes?”

“Yes,” James grunted with the kind of brevity that said that would be all they would be looking at.  

Ten awkward minutes later and James had two Slifka sidearms and a matching rifle.  The latter would be no use in close-quarters, but James liked to be prepared, and MI6 had trained him rigorously in a great number of weapons.  As Kristatos took the firearms further back into his shop to wrap the rifle for travel and match them up with energy cartridges (kept separately to ensure no customers ever decided to forego payment by making threats instead), James turned back to Q.  There was still an ambient dangerousness in the room that had James’ troubleseeker senses quivering, but he figured that that was to be expected after the little droid fiasco.  Kristatos was no doubt still unhappy, too, his own temper pinging on James’ radar.  

James sighed, realizing that he’d have to detach Q from said droid, as the two were still sitting together looking thick as thieves.  In fact, as he walked over, he saw that Q had convinced… Catchpenny?  That was the droid’s name?... to offer its arm, and Q was fiddling around with something beneath the medial forearm panel.  The fleshcoat on said arm was so cheap and worn that James could see the seams of each individual panel.  The two actually seemed to be talking, and as James drew closer, his heart gave a little squeeze at hearing Q ask whether or not the hodge-podge little droid would get punished for this whole fiasco - to which the droid answered in his whirring, badly-modulated voice that Kristatos was not the kind of man to personally get his hands dirty.  James had known many people like that, and therefore knew from experience that that made them no less capable of vengeance or cruelty, but decided that now was not the time to say so.  The conversation stopped as Bond’s approach was noticed anyway, Q and the droid turning their heads like mismatched mirror images to look at him with caught-out expressions.  Q’s hands quickly finished what they were doing and the panel was snapped back into place; Catchpenny withdrew his arm back to his lap.  

“We’ve got to go soon, Q,” James said solemnly, his tone of voice carefully chosen to make clear that this was not a discussion, simply a fact.  

As the Jedi opened his mouth to no doubt argue anyway, Kristatos reappeared.  Oblivious to his poor timing, the weapons-seller called out with all the faux-cheer of a salesman who hadn’t quite met his quota, “Well then, here are your items, sir!  Your payment has already gone through, so you can be on your way.”  Notably, he did not ask whether he could interest Bond or Q in anything else.  

Huffing out another jaded breath, James exchanged a quick look with Q (the Jedi looked frustrated but resigned) and then walked over to exchange the usual goodbye pleasantries while also tucking the sidearms into the new holsters that he’d bought.  The fit was good, holding them snug against his side, and barely showing once he pulled his jacket back on.  The rifle, packaged up, went on his back.  

Only because James was purposefully keeping a lot of his attention on Q did he notice, out of the corner of his eye, Catchpenny reaching out and grabbing Q’s wrist.  Kristatos was still making various idle comments while wandering further back into his shop, but James ignored him, turning in time to catch the pleasure-droid saying very seriously to Q, “Master does not get his hands dirty.”  It was the same sentence that he’d said once already, but more firmly now, and suddenly James realize that the troubleseeker sense was not just noticing an angry Jedi in the room.

Entire body coming alive with adrenaline, James reached down with his left hand to grab Q’s upper arm, feeling the motors in his prosthetic arm whir as they took the Jedi’s weight and hauled him up.  “We’ve got to get going.  Now,” James hissed, and thankfully it seemed like the boffin had picked up on Catchpenny’s subtle warning, too, because instead of arguing, he simply got his feet under him and started moving in tandem with James.  As the two bolted from the shop, the droid watched them go with unblinking, calm, sun-bleached eyes.

Q never asked James what was going on because trouble found them before queries became necessary - it looked like Kristatos had gotten offended enough to call in some friends.  The moment James was outside, he could feel the shrill piping of his troubleseeker sense so strongly that it whipped his head around.  There, coming through the crowds in a tight ‘V’ of four people, were obviously thugs looking for trouble.  Proving that Q saw them, too, it was the Jedi who said, “Fuck,” and started tugging James in the other direction. The two of them took off running, and immediately there was a commotion behind them as the thugs pushed people aside to do the same.  

“Did the First Order really find us so quickly?” Q panted, managing to keep tight to James’ side even as they, too, had to deal with the populated streets.  The way people moved out of Q’s way made James strongly suspect that some Jedi trick was at work.  

“Doubtful,” James replied.  He grabbed Q by the arm again so that they could both take a hard right.  He didn’t need to look behind him to know that danger was close behind.  The fact that the thugs likely knew Scasla better than them was a huge problem that Bond hoped to deal with by being as random as possible.  “It’s more likely that Kristatos didn’t take kindly to us not endorsing all angles of his business.”

Q gave James a briefly horrified look as they kept running.  “You mean that bastard would seriously send people to kill us just because we wouldn’t agree to…?”  He didn’t finish the sentence, the last words choking off - although perhaps Q needed all of his concentration for running as James urged them down another turn.

“Well, it is a bit strange that his is the only shop that sells weapons around here,” James reflected as he vaulted over a crate of something and kept moving.  Q was keeping up admirably well.  “In retrospect, perhaps I should have realized that he had a problem with people saying ‘no’ to him.”  Those issues with understanding and accepting consent would also explain how Kristatos farmed out his bot.  “Although there’s no proof yet that anyone is out to kill us.”

“Oh, so they were just sent to tune us up a bit,” Q scoffed between breaths, “Lovely.  Maybe that’s just what you need, but I’ve been battered enough over the past few days, thank you.”

James winced, realizing that he’d caused most of those injuries.  “Are you still mad about that?” he demanded in exasperation.  “I thought we got over this.  I let you talk to M and everything.”

“Of course I’m still mad about that!  You dislocated my arm!”

  “I put it back,” James defended, then was forced to focus on other issues as they rounded another corner and found that their path was empty… but also a dead-end.  “Damn it all,” he grunted.  

Q turned back the way they came, but made no attempt to run that way.  “They’re already getting closer,” he declared with admirable calm. 

James’ troubleseeker sense confirmed that.  It was growing louder and louder in his head, and starting to physically tug at him in that way it had - the way that got him into a lot of trouble, and that got a lot of part-Shezarand people killed in stupid ways.  James made himself go forward instead, noting the height of the wall that blocked their path.  They had buildings to the right and left and danger fast approaching from behind, but ahead just looked like a stone wall.  “Q, get over here,” James commanded.  As soon as Q trotted over, James laced his fingers together, forming a stirrup that Q could step into.  “Unless there’s a giant pit of spikes on the other side of this wall, I want you to go over it.”

“And what about you?” Q asked.

James waited until he had Q’s boot in his hands, Q already bracing himself for the upward motion, before he answered, “Well, you did say that out of the two of us, I’m the most due for a tune-up.”

Instantly, Q’s eyes got huge, and James could all but see his Jedi sense of right and wrong kicking into hyperdrive.  “James, I didn’t mean-!” he started to shout, but James chose then to shove upwards, and suddenly Q had the choice of going along with it, or probably falling into a painful and inglorious heap.  His reflexes were good, and he just managed to grasp the top of the wall.  James let go of him, knowing that if he held on, Q would probably attempt to come back down - instead, now with a sense that he was dangling by only his arms, Q’s instincts led to him straining and swearing and dragging himself up.  He made it to the top of the wall and immediately reached down.  It warmed James’ heart a little, even if he made no move to reach for the hand.  “You self-destructive bastard, grab my hand!” Q demanded with a snarl.  

“And risk dragging you back down?  That sounds counterproductive,” James replied as blithely as possible.  He turned back towards the mouth of the alleyway, giving in a little to the screaming of his troubleseeker sense.  

Of course, he then heard Q swearing more and scrambling around, and looked over his shoulder to see Q trying to find a safe way to jump back down.  James dropped the lackadaisical act and instead went back to being a Stormtrooper with enough rank to yell at people.  “Q, don’t you fucking dare!”  The sudden rise in sternness and volume startled the Jedi into freezing - good, that’s what James was going for.  He bulled onward, turning to face the wall again and even striding forward in the most intimidating manner he was capable of (which he’d heard on good authority was quite a lot).  “You get your little arse turned around.  Tell me: What’s on the other side of the wall?”

Q looked mutinous, but still off-balanced by the change in James’ demeanour.  He obeyed, and answered hesitantly, “An awning.”

“Good.  Then fucking jump down onto that, and for the love of whatever deity you pray to, do not sprain an ankle - because then I want you to go back to the ship.  Do you understand me?” James snarled.  He could now hear their enemies approaching.  He had seconds, a minute at most, to get Q to obey.

“But what about-?”

Ruthlessly, James cut him off again.  “I’ll catch up to you, and even if I don’t, you can fly that ship just fine.”  Realizing that the slight hint of ‘I might not follow you’ had Q a bit horrified, James toned down the steel in his voice and let more reassurance take its place.  “Just go, Q.  I’ve been in fights before - and you were right earlier, that Kristatos would have been pretty insane to send people out to murder us over something so small.  A bit of a scuffle, and I’ll show them that I’m not a toy they can chew on, and I’ll get back to you.”

“It’s going to be four against one.  I can sense how many there are,” Q snapped back, starting to look furious - although James could read pure frustration behind it.  James knew the feeling.  He’d felt helpless when his family had died, too.  Hopefully, this situation would not mirror that one…  

“Good to know that it’ll be a fair fight,” James teased back, flashing a grin.  When Q rolled his eyes and huffed, still displeased, James added, “I’ll fight better if I don’t have to worry about you, all right?  I’ve got three guns that need to be taken for a test-drive anyway, and this alley is already going to be crowded even without you.”

Some of that logic started to seep in.  Still, it looked like Q wasn’t going to listen, and was already eyeing the rather impressive drop back down.  James swore and came up with the only idea he could: he pulled the rifle off his back, and then tossed it at Q.  Predictably, the Jedi fumbled to catch it… and overbalanced backwards.  James felt bad for literally knocking Q right off the wall, but Q had said that there was an awning on the other side, and having that break Q’s fall would be better than him sticking around.  There was a sound of ripping and something splintering, though, James called with a bit of trepidation, “All right there, pup?”

“You’d better get back to the ship alive, you fucking cad, because all of my limbs are working - and I’m going to use all of them to beat some sense into you!” was the furious threat that returned, muffled by the stone between them.

James smiled, relief watching through him.

And just in time, too - because at that point, Kristatos’s four thugs rounding the last corner.  James turned to face them with his smirk still in place.

~^~

‘That Stormtrooper had better survive this, because I’m going to kill him,’ Q fumed, even as he picked himself up and brushed himself off.  The awning was an old one, and had torn a bit, but neither Q nor James’ damn rifled had sustained any damage by the time they’d reached the ground.  An even older crate had further broken Q’s fall, so he was going to be a bit bruised.  Grudgingly, though, he could see where James was coming from, even if it annoyed him.  James was currently armed with two guns as well as knives he knew how to use, and after the strict instructions M had given the Stormtrooper, Q could well understand the man not wanting to risk his Jedi asset.  That, and Q hadn’t exactly proven himself to be much of a fighter thus far, which rankled a bit.  

Feeling the bruises to his ego more than to his body, Q sighed and forced himself to regain his bearings.  There was no one where he was right now, but it would probably be best if he got moving.  It would be terribly ironic indeed if James knocked Q over the other side of the wall only for Q to get into his own brand of trouble over here.  Of course, that would probably also teach Bond a lesson about pushing his companions over walls.

“Fuck you, James Bond,” Q muttered to himself before turning on his heel and walking away as vindictively as possible.  

Unfortunately, the boffin didn’t make it very far before he started to hear noises.  It was the expected taunting - the thugs were speaking in Commons, loud enough to carry - asking where James’ partner was, telling James in detail the kind of beating he was in for.  James responded in kind, though, and Q kept walking, even though it made him feel sick and wretched inside.  He was a Jedi, didn’t that mean he was supposed to be selfless and help people?!  He reminded himself that James hadn’t given him that option, though.  All he could do was run away, really.  

But then Q realized that there was something he wasn’t hearing.  

Weapons’ fire - from James, specifically.  

The Jedi paused and turned back slowly, listening more carefully than ever and forgetting that he was supposed to get safely back to Glaurung.  He clutched James’ rifle a bit more tightly in his arms, wishing that he knew as much about using it as he knew about its working components - Q could field-strip just about any weapons, Eve had often said proudly, only to add that Q also couldn’t aim worth a damn.  That had never really bothered Q much until now.  

Q heard one of the thugs snicker, a higher-pitched voice that might have been female.  “You seem to have an unrealistic view of how this is going to go.  You know that we’ll find your partner eventually  but until then, we’re going to beat the living hells out of you.”

“You are welcome to try,” James replied with all the charm and smoothness that Q was beginning to recognize.  Q imagined him readying at least one of his handguns, and wondered why he hadn’t just fired them yet.  Surely James didn’t like to hear monologuing…?

The next thug’s low voice replied with equal calmness: “Go ahead, fire.  We’ll even stand still and wait.”

Q didn’t like where this was going.  “Come on, Bond, just shoot them,” Q whispered under his breath, tempted to yell it, except he’d already heard the thugs threatening to find him, “Jedi are supposed to be the ones with pesky morals, not Stormtroopers.”  

But there was not anything being fired.  Q scurried back closer to the wall, as if perhaps it had simply been a quiet fight, and he might hear James winning if he just got closer.  Instead, all he heard was James cursing sharply.  

“Having performance problems?” the first thug joked.  Q felt himself getting scared.  This wasn’t how James had planned this, he was sure of it.  

Another thug finally chimed in with an answer when James didn’t rise to the bait, “Since our boss is such a connoisseur of guns, he found out early on that it would be wise for him to invest in some anti-gun technology.  It’s not perfect, but I’m afraid that so long as you’re within range, you’re not going to be able to use anything Kristatos gave you.”  Q felt himself go sick and cold inside, and imagined that there was a slow smile accompanying the words.  “Apologies.  I hope that you’ve got something else to fight with, or this is going to be a very short disciplinary beating before we take you in.”

“Take me in?” James said back.  The joking nature was gone, replaced by caution, which to Q’s ear was a bad sign.  James made jokes in the middle of a solar storm; what did it mean now that he’d stopped joking?  

“Your face is being spread on all the datawaves, Stormtrooper.  I don’t know what you did, but for a bounty like yours, I don’t need to know,” the first thug said, and there was a ripple of laughter that sounded predatory.  Q’s heart-rate, already swift against his ribs from running and fear, began to hammer out an even more rapid tattoo.  He began looking around him, suddenly realizing that he was most definitely not going to follow James’ stupid instructions and go back to the ship.  The pile of old crates grabbed his eye again, and despite knowing that they were dangerously old and rickety, Q began trying to scale them.  He went ahead and dropped the rifle, having learned how useless it was now, just like James’ two handguns.  Q’s foot went right through a crate almost immediately, but by then, things were getting louder on the other side of the wall.  James was poignantly silent, unsettlingly so, but Q heard a few shouts and curses from the thugs, and recalled that James had carried knives with him.  Realizing that even once he got to the top of the wall, he didn’t know what he’d be able to do that was helpful, Q made a sound of frustration and then snapped, “Fuck it,” to himself and freed up one climbing hand to dig about in the folds of his clothing.  His lightsaber sheath almost instantly snapped into his palm, seemingly eager and obedient.  He’d seen Eve do all manner of impressive things with her Jedi abilities - from leaping like a flea to mesmerizing people - but she hadn’t had time to teach him all of that.  

So, instead, Q gripped the saber-hilt in his mouth, somehow managed to claw his way up until he had his elbows hooked over the wall, and transferred the dormant weapon into one hand.  He looked down in time to see James take an absolutely brutal punch - one that sent blood flying from his mouth, and the Stormtrooper staggered back into the wall.  Right below Q.  “James!” the Jedi shouted, and at least Bond was still alert enough to respond, because his blond-haired head turned to look up in bewilderment.  

Before James could berate Q on not following orders - and before the thugs could regain their surprise over seeing a dark-haired little waif clinging to the top of the wall - Q said, “Catch!” and dropped his saber down to James.  He desperately hoped that the man knew what to do with it.

He need not have worried.

Even as the benign-looking metal cylinder dropped, James’ dazed eyes seemed to focus, fixate.  Then he reached up and snatched the saber out of the air.  He had the lightsaber turned on before he’d even lowered his arm, and Q gasped a little, wondering if they could thank James’ troubleseeker sense for this - James had mentioned that he was drawn towards the most dangerous things like metal shavings to a magnet.  What really made Q gasp, though, was how the colour of the plasma - a blue as pale as Bond’s eyes when Q used it - now crackled with an angry, verdant green hue.  

The thugs had frozen.  

James, giving the weapon a small swing as if testing the weight of it, didn’t turn back to Q, but instead regarded his opponents and said in a low, thoughtful tone, “It looks like your little toy only really works on guns.”  The way he spoke, easy and slow, made Q shiver, even as he found himself unable to tear his eyes away from the sight.  “Let’s try this again,” James mused, then began stalking forward.

Chapter Text

Q had seen Eve fight all-out before with her lightsaber.  Her every movement was controlled and coordinated - no matter how whip-fast she moved, it was clear that she knew exactly where each strike was meant to start and stop.  Everything about her style screamed economy of motion, and Q hoped to someday be able to think five movements ahead, because clearly that was what she was doing.  How else could she strike so smoothly only to snap immediately into the next attack, pivot, retreat, or parry?  No energy was wasted, and despite the fact that a lightsaber could hurt its wielder as easily as anything else, she always kept her movements tight.  So as not to tire herself, she said, or lose her balance after the plasma sank through something.  

Watching James fight... was nothing like that.

The Stormtrooper must have had some knowledge of how to use a sword or at least a staff, because he wasn’t terribly uncoordinated, but he also lacked the familiarity of motion that Q had always associated with Eve’s fighting style.  Of course, who was to say that James would fight at all like Q’s mentor even if the blond-haired man were fully trained in how to wield a lightsaber?  Instead, James was all about power and blatantly intimidating motion.  When he’d started stalking forward towards his opponents, his pace had been slow but steady at first, but had built like a wave cresting on a shore, and even though his first swing had hit nothing, it made Q flinch even up on his perch.  Eve fought like a bird of prey, each pinion perfectly aligned to create a contained ferocity.  James was certainly ferocious, but he clearly didn’t give a damn about containing it.  

Then again, perhaps this was what happened when you took a part-Shezarand troubleseeker and gave him an incredibly dangerous item to hold in his own two hands.  Gods, James was probably high as fuck right now. Q resisted the urge to groan and slide off the back of the wall to slink away.  He’d probably created a monster.  James would never let the damn saber go again after this.

Because of the thugs’ little toy that disabled guns in the vicinity, it looked like they’d come armed with ranged non-projectile weapons - i.e., pipes and staves.  James’ inexperience with a lightsaber showed when he faced off against a long metal pipe and slashed the saber's verdant light right through it, only to swear violently as the red-hot stump of the pipe continued its arc and Bond almost overbalanced right into it.  Thankfully, the thug was just as surprised as James, and somehow both men survived the brief clash unharmed but shaken.  James wasn’t deterred for long, though, spinning quickly with a smile already returning to his face.  He glanced at the lightsaber as one would a lover, and Q had the sudden and totally illogical question of, ‘What if he looked at me like that?’  Immediately, the Jedi gave his head a hard shake as if to physically rattle the insanity loose from his brain.  This was not the time or place for such thoughts.  Just because James was enamoured with danger didn’t mean Q had to succumb to his insanity, too.  

By this point, most of the thugs were just plain panicking - they probably would have broken and run entirely had not the biggest of said thugs started shouting something about the First Order, and Jedi, and monetary rewards.  Q just stared for a moment, perplexed, because yes he was a Jedi, but no one was looking at him… then the pieces fell into place, and he realized that he’d very possibly fucked up.  Or, at the very least, made James Bond’s life ten times more complicated.  Because… Because it was a little bit possible, just maybe, that James had been mistaken for a Jedi simply because he was wielding a lightsaber.  

At the mention of money, at least one more thug decided to brave the hungry hum of the lightsaber and the maniac behind it, pulling a slim tube of some sort from their - her? - waist-sash.  Q was confused by that, since he thought weapons weren’t working now, and the tube was hardly long enough to get past James’ reach.  Bond fought with a far more expansive style than Eve ever did, making full use of the reach of his arms and body, willing to put a lot of energy into wild swings that were (Q had to admit, silently) very impressive.  Eve was an energy beam and James was an explosion, both deadly.  But when the female attacker brought the tube to her lips, Q saw something flash through the air and it was reflex to shout, “James!” 

In all honesty, the shout probably distracted the Stormtrooper rather than helped him.  Thankfully, though, Q’s questionable ability to use the Force was much more helpful, and Q felt it when his abilities lashed out and knocked aside… he wasn’t sure what.  He’d swung his arm out in a blind attempt to keep whatever it was from James, and while he’d telekinetically batted something out of the air, the effort nearly cost him his precarious position on the wall.  Both of Q’s hands came down, his grip on the Force disappeared, and he managed to scramble up instead of fall back down onto the old crates again.  He heard Bond shout his name back at him.  

And then he felt a hard sting in his shoulder, the lightest pop of impact.

It seemed like time moved in slow motion as Q looked to his left, seeing a feather-tufted metal needle spiked right through his clothing and into his skin.  Suddenly putting two and two together and realizing that he’d been saving James from blow-darts earlier only to get one himself now, Q scrambled to pull the thing out… and in the process lost his position on the wall.  As he slid down again and landed with a crash, he heard James yell his name again.  Thankfully, after picking himself back out of the wreckage of some crates, Q didn’t feel much the worse for wear, and the dart had come out.  Unfortunately, when he found said dart to inspect it, there was definitely a slot inside it designed to hold liquid… an empty slot.  Q felt his heart plummet with silent dread.  

Since James was still yelling for him, though, and it sounded like the Stormtrooper was unleashing holy hells on those poor thugs, Q hollered back, “I’m fine!”

“Stay where you are!” James commanded back, and Q rolled his eyes, because that was the exact opposite of Bond’s previous orders.  He was tempted to disobey them out of spite, but he didn’t really want to run all the way back to Glaurung, and getting back up onto the wall didn’t seem like an option anymore.  He really did feel fine, though.  Maybe the dart had been empty, shot without the proper preparation when the enemy had noticed Q upon the wall.

Q was unsure whether or not the thugs fled naturally after that, or if James was just furious now - but one way or another, the hum of the lightsaber only lasted a bit longer and then there was silence.  “You still doing okay, Q?” James’ voice, a bit out of breath, came through the stone wall.

“Yes,” was the easy answer.  “I think they didn’t have time to prepare those darts correctly.”

“But one did hit you.”

Having already peeked under his clothing to see the spot of blood from the small puncture wound, Q made a face but admitted, “Just a little bit.”  Q winced as he heard James swear.  

“All right,” James switched his focus to something more productive, “What are the chances of me lightsaber-ing my way through this wall to you?”

“Um, well,” Q replied sincerely, “it’s possible, but cutting a hole out of the bottom of the wall might just cause the rest to collapse.”  That was why the idea had never appealed to Q himself, and he’d gone climbing instead.  

“I’ll see about the adjacent buildings then,” Bond said stubbornly, and before Q could argue about logistics or personal safety, there was the heavy, angry hum of a lightsaber being put to the test.  Q winced again at the thought of his precious saber being used as essentially a demolition tool.  At least they seemed to have stumbled upon a fairly deserted part of Scasla, so there were no cries of alarm as James steadily and stubbornly progressed.  Before long, Q was hearing sounds in the building next to him, and then there came a shattering as James simply kicked his way out of a door.  The green (Q was still baffled that it was green, when for him it was blue) light flickered off once James saw Q and relaxed.  

“You’re lucky you didn’t slip up and take your foot off or something,” Q berated, “Eve would be appalled by your lack of finesse.”

Seeing Q seemed to have relaxed James - or perhaps turning off the lightsaber had.  He grinned, stepping forward to hand Q his weapon back, asking, “Who’s Eve?”

Too late, Q realized that he was giving out information… but he’d ascertained that James was an ally at this point, hadn’t he?  “The Jedi who trained me,” Q admitted softly.  

Looking pleased at the newly revealed information, James’ grin broadened.  As Q took back his saber to tuck it away, the Stormtrooper said conspiratorially, “Well, then we’ll just have to make sure she never finds out that I gave being a Jedi a try.”  Hands free again, he cast about and quickly saw his rifle, still wrapped.  He slung it across his back.

Q rolled his eyes.  “It takes more than a lightsaber to make a Jedi.”

“Clearly.  It also takes telekinesis,” James showed that he’d noticed Q’s little trick.  “That was very stupid.”

“No, you splitting us up was stupid,” Q sniffed, then began striding away from the wall, “Now come on.  Unless you killed all of those thugs-”  He paused.  “Did you?”  James shook his head, his expression saying that he wished he had.  “Well, in that case, we’d better get moving before someone comes back with reinforcements.”

“Looking for a Jedi to turn over to the First Order, no less,” James chimed in, and Q felt a bit ashamed of himself then, especially as Bond came to the same conclusion Q had earlier, “M is going to laugh herself sick if I end up getting labelled as the Jedi instead of you, and she hears about it.”

“Well, I’m the one who used telekinesis at the end.”

James was picking up the pace, scouting about to regain his bearings, and Q kept pace.  “True, but you have to realize that most people associate you Jedi with sabers, not telekinesis.”

“That’s stupid, though-”

“And even if they didn’t, I don’t think anyone noticed you actually using the telekinesis, they just noticed how the dart coming at me suddenly made a ninety-degree turn,” James interrupted drolly, and Q stopped arguing with a scowl.  

“Okay, maybe you have a point.”  Q was the one who recognized a street first, and when he pointed at it, James just nodded and they both changed course and picked up speed.  “Congrats, you’re now part of a different Order - the Jedi Order.  Unfortunately, you’ve got none of the perks.”

“I’ll be sure to file a complaint,” James volleyed back.  That was the last they talked about it as they instead made good time back towards the ferry.  They managed to avoid the more populated parts of town, and despite the fact that they’d left angry witnesses behind, no one managed to mount any sort of pursuit - not before James and Q got on the boat across the river, at least.  However, as they got off on the far side, James looked back towards Scasla with a frown.  

Having a healthy appreciation for Bond’s troubleseeker sense now, Q asked, “Something we should worry about back there?”

“I think,” James said slowly, still staring but with eyes narrowed, “that we might not want to return to Scasla.  You still have your things?”

Thankfully, Q still had his bag - and was extra-glad that he hadn’t bought as many items to weigh him down.  “Yes.  Not sure if they’re all in pristine condition, considering how many falls I had today, though.”

“Let’s get back to the ship.  After we’re safe and sound there, I’ll even apologize for knocking you off the top of the wall,” James offered.

“Deal,” Q nodded, nothing more was said as they started jogging out into the windy expanse beyond the waters of Scasla.  

~^~

It felt like they’d dodged a lot of dangers today.  True, a lot of those dangers had gotten worse initially (turning down one attempt at pimping out a droid should not have created such chaos), but both Q and James were alive, and only suffering from a few bumps and bruises - James, a split lip.  

Before James could add “and the dart wasn’t even poisoned” to that list, however, Q began going downhill.  

The symptoms didn’t start to show up until they were too far from Scasla to easily turn back there.  Even if Q had started feeling poorly before they’d reached the ferry, James’ troubleseeker sense had been clearly warning him of the mounting dangers for them within the trade colony.  Now, though, without clear access to a doctor, Q began to stumble as they ran.  The first misstep was easily brushed off - they were moving at a ground-eating but sustainable lope, and sometimes the wind caught Q harder than it caught James.  Q said he was fine, and kept running.

But then it happened again.

And again.

And again, only this time Q barely recovered his balance before going face-first into the ground.  Only then did the Jedi stop protesting that he was okay and admit, “I… I might be getting a bit dizzy.”  

“Shit,” James said eloquently, but by that point, there was no choice but to move forward.  “Can you make it back to the captain’s place?”  Whether or not the Ceklin would even be home was questionable, as they’d all planned rather full days - Q and James were coming home earlier than expected because of the complications they’d faced.

Q nodded gamely, though, and with James keeping close to him and a reduced pace, he managed to keep moving.  The stumbling got a bit more pronounced and then plateaued, and as they viewed their destination on the far horizon, Q admitted, “Okay, the dizziness is fading, actually.”  He perked up a bit, smiling and adding, “Maybe I just need something to eat, hm?”  

Both of them fiercely hoped that was the answer, and for a while that seemed to be it.  They had canteens of water, and Q drank a bit in case this was dehydration, and they kept moving.  Unfortunately, the fading dizziness did nothing but create a false sense of security - and make way for a new, far worse symptom.  It started as a headache, one sudden enough and bad enough that Q clutched his head and actually admitted to the discomfort.  He ended up cupping his hands around his eyes like blinders, but keeping out the watery daylight did no good, and James finally demanded that they stop despite the fact that Glaurung and the Ceklin captain’s establishment was drawing closer with each step they took.  With Q trying his best to protest that it wasn’t that bad, James tugged at Q’s clothing until the Jedi gave in and helped, showing where the dart had hit.  The skin was red around the edges of the tiny puncture wound, but otherwise, it didn’t really look all that alarming.  

“Let’s just keep moving,” Q pleaded, batting James’ hands away and setting his clothing to rights.  He pulled up the cowl he wore to block out some of the sunlight, adding through clenched teeth, “If I’m going to have a migraine, I’d rather have it in a nice dark room - out of this damn wind.”  

Feeling helpless and seeing no other option, James acquiesced.  Q was much slower now, though, and even though he swore up and down that the dizziness was entirely disappeared, the pain that had replaced it was more than enough to stagger him.  The pain also kept getting worse.  

And spreading.

“Fuck,” Q hissed, nearly folding over, clutching his middle.  When James reached out to steady him and move him forward (they were basically at the captain’s establishment now, although there was no sign of the Ceklin himself), the Jedi yelped as if Bond had wrapped his hand around fresh bruises, or burnt skin.  When James tried to touch him somewhere else, thinking that maybe he had touched upon a bruise, it made no difference.  “It feels like I’ve got acid in my veins,” Q murmured a moment later, in a breathless, scared voice.  

Stormtroopers didn’t deal much in poison, and while MI6 had given James some more illicit, expansive training, he had no idea what to do with this.  All he knew was that with every second, Q’s pain was mounting exponentially, but never with any tangible source - this wasn’t a tooth to be pulled, a wound to staunch the blood flow to.  It wasn’t even a migraine anymore, or at least Q’s head became the least of his worries, as he started to tremble and twitch, his very blood all but afire.  They didn’t even make it all the way to the Ceklin’s house because Q couldn’t walk any farther.  Instead they barely made it to the closer source of help and shelter - the Nebelung ship.  It had medical supplies.  Hopefully some of them would help.  James had to all but sling Q over his shoulders and carry him up into the belly of the ship, and Q was screaming by then.  The fact that the Ceklin captain made no appearance meant that he was too far away to help.

The pain had gotten so bad by this point that it was making Q illogical; he was lashing out without thought or hesitation, no doubt simply wanting to escape the agony that had roared up to consume him.  James struggled just to get the younger man down onto the floor of the ship’s tiny medbay, where he could contain him.  But with Q struggling this hard, James realized that it would be impossible to free up a hand to grab the med-kit that he could bloody see nearby.  

Then things actually got worse as Q reached for the Force, a random flail of his hand clearing out an entire medical shelf in a clatter of falling objects.  As James flinched, startled, he felt that Force begin to focus on him, Q misidentifying the enemy in his pain and fear.  “Oh no, you don’t,” James grunted, feeling the disembodied pressure against his ribcage like a set of clumsy jaws just beginning to close.  Acting on impulse and instinct himself, James let go of Q’s shirt with one hand to instead wrap his left hand around the Jedi’s throat - before Q could do the same to him via the Force, like last time.  When the ex-Stormtrooper applied pressure, Q finally noticed the threat cutting through the haze of pain.  He’d been writhing and keening breathlessly, but now he stopped with a little cough, bloodshot eyes snapping open and wildly finding James above him.  There wasn’t any particular recognition in that frightened gaze, but at least James had Q’s attention now, so he used it.  “Q, listen to me.  I know you’re hurting-”  Q let loose a thin whimper that was all the agreement he could give, and it shredded right through James’s heart.  He made himself stay callous, however, maintaining a grip just shy of cutting off the Jedi’s airway - because anything less and he might not be able to react quickly enough if Q ended up using the Force on him.  Leaning closer, James finished his sentence with quiet fervor, “-But I’m not hurting you.  I’m trying to help you.  Do you understand?”

Q’s lashes were damp with tears, the agony no doubt immense.  His body kept wriggling, but he stopped knocking things over with his Jedi powers, and while his hands remained up like he might try something, James felt the invisible pressure on his chest slowly recede.  Q made a choking, sobbing noise that had nothing to do with the hand still holding him snugly by the throat.  James let up his grip just enough so that he could rub his thumb against the back of Q’s jawbone, a tiny soothing gesture.  “Good boy, Q.  That’s it,” James crooned lowly over the sporadic little whines that kept escaping up Q’s throat, “Just let me help you, and I’ll make all the pain go away.  I promise.”

With James’s grip still so tight, nodding wasn’t possible, but James felt the tiny bit of pressure when Q tried to tip his head in acquiescence.  James, relieved at the sign of sanity, rewarded the little gesture by leaning forward to kiss Q’s forehead, even as he used the movement to mask how his right hand reached - and found - the medkit.  He quickly found what he was looking for, and the second he did, he pressed the pre-filled hypodermic sharply against Q’s thigh.  When he and the Ceklin captain had been working on the ship this morning, James had put together the med-kit, and he knew how useful certain drugs could be on short notice...    

The Jedi jerked, and for a second he fought again, eyes turning betrayed - but then the drug flooded his system and did its work, knocking him out.  In the kit were prepped numbing agents, but James had gone one step beyond that, fearing that a painkiller wouldn’t cut it.  James kept his grip on Q’s neck until the Jedi’s thrashing stopped and his lean body slackened.  Only then did the ex-Stormtrooper breath out in relief. The position of James’s hand also meant that he could feel Q’s pulse, and he tracked it as it slowed, eventually steadying out at a leisurely but healthy pace.  

“Fuck, now what?” James asked, entirely to himself as he hung his head over Q’s still form.  

He didn’t expect an answer.  

“Master favours drugs that are slow to hit, long to linger,” a voice came from the direction of the doorway - and the hatch James had left open.  James spun around, drawing one of the handguns that hopefully worked now.  The figure that had been in the doorway immediately flinched back out of sight, but not before James recognized Catchpenny, with his busted face and badly-tuned voice.  

Feeling fiercely protective, almost illogically so, James kept his weapon aimed towards the doorway, where synthetic fingertips were still curled around the edge.  “What are you doing here?” James growled with thunder-low menace.    

In response, Catchpenny eased back into sight a bit, eyed widening a bit as they registered the weapon trained on him.  His synthetic hair (as sunbleached as his eyes) flopped over his brow a bit, an asymmetrical cut because so much of the fleshcoat was missing from the right side of his head and face.  In fact, he seemed to be more damaged than before even, all of the black bioacrylic of his neck visible, and the tearing on his head encroaching nearly to the outer edge of his right eye.  He’d had a ragged shirt on before, but now he was down to just loose trousers, which showed off a torso of conglomerate parts, some of them scribbled on in a haphazard manner, as if the droid had gotten bored with a marker.  Now with about half of his body visible as he leaned around the doorway, Catchpenny’s eyes gave exactly two measured blinks, and then he said without any noticeable tonal change, “Before Master, I was a medical droid.”  Another two blinks.  “A bedside droid, but of a different kind.”  James was a bit caught off-guard by the play on words, and slightly disturbed that Catchpenny was not only capable of humour, but of dark humour.  The way the droid was jumping topics made James worry that he was as broken inside as out.  What Catchpenny said next began to slot the pieces into place, however.  “I understand ailments of the human body.  I understand patient care.  I understand antidotes.”  It was all said stiltedly, in Catchpenny's strange, airy voice, starting to ring with what was almost but not quite desperation - like he was grasping at a past life that grew more faded and elusive by the day.  

But then he came further into view (despite James’ gun), and James finally saw the droid’s other hand.  The first thing he noticed was that it had been blown apart nearly down to its base parts: slim, metal substructures were all that was left of his hands, like tarnished silver bones, with barely enough wires clinging to them for motor control.  It looked a lot like Kristatos had tried to blow his droid's whole lower arm off with a wide-mouthed laser… which, considering what Catchpenny said next, was perhaps exactly what had happened.  “Your companion needs this.  I took it, because I knew you or he would need it.”  And with that, Catchpenny unfolded his damaged fingers in jerky movements to reveal a small (and thankfully tough) metal bottle.  

Suddenly James didn’t need to defend Q’s prone form anymore - he needed whatever that antidote was.  He lowered his gun and surged to his feet, only realizing how fast he’d moved when the droid’s eyelids drew back and his body gave a flinch-like jerk.  James heard servos whirring.  Realizing that Catchpenny had the option of tossing that bottle right back down the hatch and making James’ life very difficult, or being helpful and explaining how the stuff worked, James forced himself to stop and holster his weapon.  He raised both hands, showing empty palms.   When Catchpenny’s body eased and he stepped out into view so that they were both facing each other squarely (Catchpenny was shorter than James and far slimmer, a disarming build that probably had once done a lot to calm uneasy patients), James said, “Can you tell me how to administer it?  Q was already in a bad way when I put him under.”

“Master’s drug doesn’t kill,” Catchpenny said, once again not quite answering the question, but coming close.  There was definitely something wrong with his logic algorithms.  Then Catchpenny looked past James at Q, and despite how disfigured the droid’s face was, it had once been made exquisitely human so as to deal with patients, and now Catchpenny looked almost forlorn.  His vibrating voice intoned softly, “His name is Q?”  Not waiting for an answer (another sign of internal errors), he went on, “He fixed my arm.”  Unfortunately, the arm that Catchpenny indicated (without looking at it) was the one blasted nearly to oblivion.  James winced.  

“Tell me how to help him then,” James coaxed, reaching for patience.  “You must have followed us back here - you must have heard how much pain he was in.”

Catchpenny’s eyes flicked back to James’, and it was clear that Catchpenny’s emotive programming was a bit off, because instead of switching over to a new expression - maybe even something sensible like fear - his face just went blank again.  No, not blank… detached.  James felt like he was going to be a little bit sick as he realized that that was the exact kind of detachment that human prostitutes got when they were used beyond their tolerance.  James had seen a few such people in his travels, and it had always unsettled him.  “The pain can last for nearly a week, untreated,” Catchpenny continued to speak as if reciting from a medical textbook.  Thankfully, he also held up the hand with the bottle in it again.  “But if you have a syringe, I can give him this.  It will halt the cascade effect of the drug, and increase the rate that it will be metabolized and fade.”

‘Finally,’ James breathed in his head, glad that Q was blissfully unconscious for this negotiation.  James swiftly swivelled back towards the open med-kit, saying, “A syringe I have.”  Patience, James had not, however, so he ended up adding, “So either get your metal arse over here or tell me how to give the antidote.”

Thankfully, Catchpenny didn’t take offence to the pushiness, and instead was quick to obey.  He moved forward with the typical weighty footsteps of a droid - his feet looked surprisingly human, in a way that likely had nothing to do with Catchpenny once being a nurse-droid and everything to do with the fact that Kristatos wanted his whore to be able to cater to any possible kink.  As James carefully watched Catchpenny kneel down and draw a golden liquid from the container into a syringe, the ex-Stormtrooper wondered just how mad Kristatos had to be, that his droid had betrayed him for a kindness as simple as a boffin fixing one damaged arm.  Then James’ thought drifted unavoidably to just how rare kindness had to be for Catchpenny to cling to this small one so fiercely.  

The only thing that kept James from burying his head in his hands and just blocking it all out was his sense of duty towards Q.  He had to keep an eye on things, in case of the minuscule chance that Catchpenny was actually any kind of threat.  After all, the Jedi was helpless right now, and James had promised (and already failed) to keep him safe.

Nothing spectacular happened as Catchpenny delivered the liquid with evident skill into the crook of Q’s arm and then rolled the sleeve back down over it.  Q remained quiet and unconscious, breathing steadily.  Catchpenny settled down on his knees, sitting on his heels, as if he had no real interest in moving from that spot - then again, if Catchpenny’s original designation had been to treat patients, then this was probably the most content he’d felt in… who knew how long?  When James moved forward (slowly, stepping to Q’s other side and attempting not to threaten Catchpenny), the droid looked up at him with the same general disinterest as before.  However, as James gently checked Q’s pulse and then his breathing, ending with a hand pressed under Q’s mop of hair to feel the heat of his forehead, Catchpenny grew a bit more alive and brightened as he explained, “The poison will linger.  However, there is a substance found locally on Rankatti that is known to further ameliorate the symptoms, especially after the antidote has been introduced.”

When James asked about the substance, Catchpenny seemed a bit more focused, and actually gave straight answers.  He described some viscous liquid that was actually the spit of some native insect, but that it was sweet and edible.  James made a mental note to ask if the Ceklin captain had any, but then realized that he didn’t speak Cekl.  When he asked on a whim if Catchpenny did, the droid rocked back and seemed to glitch out a bit - he clearly did not, and was a bit distressed that his usefulness had reached its limit.  Reminded of the droid’s instability, and that he had to be careful who he trusted around Q, James ran a few plans through his head and settled on the most palatable.  “Catchpenny.”  Pale eyes snapped to him, the slight sound of his neck moving showing just how long it had been since someone had given the synthetic muscles and tendons a decent cleaning and oiling.  “Kristatos didn’t just let you go, did he?”

The droid’s eyes immediately darted down to his arm.  There was still some metal and plastic further up it, closer to the elbow, but it was grotesquely damaged - melted and cooled into the wrong shape.  “I ran away,” Catchpenny said without inflexion, “He will want me back.”

“I can’t let you go back,” James admitted truthfully.  He was squatting on his haunches while Catchpenny knelt, and the ex-Stormtrooper logically knew that he could react faster than the droid could - and likely overpower him - if Catchpenny gave him reason to.  

Fortunately, all Catchpenny did was look at him and cock his head.  “Why?”

“Because you know where Q and I are, and I can’t take any chances that that information might get back to Kristatos,” James explained.  He went for straightforwardness, having seen already that Catchpenny’s logicboard was not quite working as it should be.  “You know too much.  You could endanger Q.”

At the mention of Q, Catchpenny reacted a bit differently again - he looked down at the boffin and his face seemed to try out a few emotions at once.  It settled on a troubled frown.  “I do not wish to endanger Q,” he stated firmly… or as firmly as he could with what sounded like a puncture in his vocal servers.  Each word was half air and badly synced.  

“Which leaves me with the question of,” James went on steadily, “what do I do with you?”  Catchpenny looked at him again, and there was another quiet grinding noise as he cocked his head once more.  Well, at least the droid wasn’t freaking out.  James had killed both people and droids in the past - quite a few of each, in fact - but out of all the possible threats he’d faced, he’d probably never wanted to kill one less.  Catchpenny was barely even registering to his troubleseeker sense, just an ambient hum that warned James that even a very little droid was stronger than it seemed, and that it wouldn’t take much effort now to hurt Q or bring down more trouble.  

Moving forward with his previous plan (which included containing Catchpenny but not hurting or killing him unless forced to), James stood up, looking down as the droid tilted his head back steadily to maintain eye-contact.  “My choice is either to decommission you or lock you up in one of the living quarters on this ship,” James said, keeping his voice as steady, implacable, and logical as before.  He put a bit of threat into it, but was careful not to lay it on too thick, lest he trigger some sort of panic in Catchpenny.  “Now, here’s how it’s going to be: you came after us of your own choice, so you don’t get to create any other options besides those I’ve just said.  But, since it looks like you came to help-”  Bond realized that he wouldn’t actually know for sure until Q woke up, either in better health or in screaming agony.  “-I’ll let you be the one to decide between the two options I gave you.  So, what’s it going to be, droid?”  He unholstered one gun again.  For the first time, he realized that the rifle had been dropped on the floor, but Catchpenny didn’t even look to it, much less go for it.  The droid just continued to stare up at James like some animal that didn’t know what a slaughterhouse was, and that they were facing a butcher.  James felt sick, but held firm.  He couldn’t allow any more risks to the Jedi he was protecting.  

Fortunately, Catchpenny didn’t force James to make any hard decision.  Instead, the droid stood - slowly, posture remaining unthreatening - saying, “I do not wish to be decommissioned.”  Then he added something that really shouldn’t have surprised James by this point: “I wish to continue treating Q.”

~^~ 

Chapter Text

Q awoke with a groan, blinking his eyes open blearily, and immediately heard a curse muttered in grateful-sounding Commons.  Q recognized Bond’s voice, but nothing else rang any particular bells, so he rasped out, “What happened-?”  At the same time, he reflexively tried to push himself upright, and immediately felt a throbbing awaken in each and every one of his joints.  He flopped back down onto the floor with a curse of his own.  “Never mind.  I remember.”

“How are you feeling?”

“Like I just took a tumble out of a moving groundship,” Q muttered back frankly, grimacing.  However, he felt compelled to add, “Which is actually a huge improvement.”

It sounded like James was trying to hold back laughter, but a strangled cough still got out.  “The poison you were hit with apparently has a lot of lingering side-effects, but I’ve been told there are ways to treat it.”

Q lifted an arm, wincing as his joints protested like a nonagenarian’s, and rubbed his hand over his face to wake up a bit more.  “How did you know what to treat for?  I didn’t think the First Order was much into poisons.”

“I didn’t, and they’re not,” James replied, and then seemed to strangely hesitate.  Instead of elaborating, he asked instead, “Do you want some water?”

Of course Q did - he was just as aware of his screaming as James had been, and his throat was almost more painful than his joints - but more than that he wanted answers.  He was also coming alert now, and could sense that James was holding something back.  Swivelling his head, Q belatedly took in his surroundings, recognizing the inside of Glaurung and having the haziest recollection of getting there.  He then fixed his eyes on the Stormtrooper, who was sitting on the floor not far away, leaning against the wall.  “No, I want you to tell me what you injected me with.  I wasn’t paying a lot of attention to details at the end there, but I clearly remember you stabbing me in the leg with a needle.”

James made a face that looked both recalcitrant and guilty, proving that Q had definitely remembered that correctly.  Then Q heard a soft thump from a closed door off to the right - leading to one of the two cramped living quarters on Glaurung, and the sound alarmed him enough that he started trying to get up again.  The pain was nothing like it had been, but it still made him gasp at the all-over ache, and this time James came forward with a quiet exclamation.  Strong arms slid around Q’s shoulders just when he was about to lose his balance and slip back to the floor again.  “Bloody-!  Just slow down, Q, all right?  Fuck,” James grunted even as he got Q into a stable sitting position.  Q’s head swam, but when he tried to get to his feet to investigate the noise that he’d heard, James’ grip became restraining rather than helpful.  “It was Catchpenny, all right?” James finally huffed, “That glitchy little droid whose arm you fixed.”  When Q twisted to stare at James in surprise, the Stormtrooper sighed, rolled his eyes, and then grudgingly laid it all out, “He not only stole the antidote from his psychotic master, but he followed us all the way here just so he could give it to you.  I locked him in your bedroom.”

“You locked him up?” Q shot back, outraged on the android’s behalf.  “He helps us and in return you-  Wait, my room?”

“Your droid.  Your room.  Plus, I think your bag of tools is stored there,” James said simply, then stood.  With another world-weary sigh, he extended his hands downwards, wiggling his fingers beckoningly, “Come on.  I suppose now is as good a time as any to see if you can stand - because if I can’t get you down the ladder off the ship, I’ll have to bring the Ceklin captain to you instead of you to him, and I’d rather not risk him noticing the droid we’ve kidnapped.”

Everything was moving very fast, and it was only reflex that had Q reaching up to take Bond’s hands.  “Firstly, don’t you lump us together on this - I was unconscious and played no part in your decision to lock up a droid.  Secondly - why do I need to go see the captain?  Who has a name, by the way.”

“A name that even you can’t pronounce.”

Okay, James had a point.  Q’s Cekl was pretty good, but humanoid vocal cords simply weren’t made to create certain sounds - and all of those sounds seemed to make up the captain’s name.  Frowning, Q allowed himself to be dragged up to his feet, where he immediately gasped and swayed.  “Dammit,” Q hissed, hating that James had to steady him but grateful that this kept him from keeling over, “I haven’t ached this much since I first started sparring with Eve!”

“Funny, I didn’t know you had any sparring skills.”

Q elbowed him, then winced.  “Stop avoiding my questions, you bastard.”

One hand on Q’s upper arm and the other splayed on the small of his back, steadying and surprisingly warm even through layers of clothing, James relented, “Catchpenny also explained that even with the antidote he gave you, the poison is likely to linger - but he told me about something that you can ingest that will help with the rest of the pain.  The problem is, I’ve never heard of it, and we can’t very well go back to Scasla.  I’m hoping you can translate and ask the Cekl captain if he has any of the stuff on hand.”

Anything that would make Q feel less like he’d been run over had Q’s interest.  “What is this stuff?”

“Bug vomit, apparently.”  When Q straightened up so that he could stare at James in patent disbelief (and more than a little distaste), James shrugged helplessly and added, “I’m just repeating what the droid said!  I should add, though, that I don’t think his logic processors are all working.”

Q abruptly remembered the state the poor droid had been in when he’d last seen him, and immediately turned towards the closed door.  No more sounds had come from there, and he could well imaging Catchpenny inside the room, scared and silent now that he was hearing arguing.  Q’s chest tightened painfully.  When he made to walk towards the room, however, Bond’s hand caught him by the sleeve.  When Q snapped a glare James’ way, the Stormtrooper’s blue eyes were serious and grim.  In a tone to match, Bond said, “We can’t let him go, Q.  I didn’t hurt him, but I explained to him that I can’t risk him leaving and spreading word about where you are.”  That reminder put a damper on Q’s temper a bit, as he saw the practicality of James’ statement.  Of course, the blue-eyed man then had to go on, “And do you really want him going back to Kristatos?”

The thought made Q’s fists clench.  “I hate it when you use logic.  I like you better when you’re perfectly insane.”

James’ mouth quirked up on one side.  “Don’t worry, in the future, I’ll try and leave all logical decisions to you.  Now, can we please go see if the captain is back so that we can get you something for the last of the pain?  You look like an old person who fell down a flight of stairs.”

Q certainly felt like one, but now that he knew Catchpenny was involved, he had priorities.  “Later.  I need to check on Catchpenny first, and be sure you didn’t scare the living daylights out of him.”

Rolling his eyes and muttering something along the lines of, “I probably did,” the Stormtrooper nonetheless let go of Q and stepped out of his way.  Smart man.  Q gritted his teeth against the lingering ache in his throat and muscles (honestly, the pain could easily have been attributed to soreness from screaming and thrashing), straightened his posture a bit more, and strode towards the door.  He tried to sweep it aside with the Force, only to realize that it was a lot harder to focus on his Jedi powers when his body was still so distracting.  Thankfully, James was also smart enough not to comment as Q manually unlocked and let the door slide open.  

Inside, as expected, was Catchpenny.  The state of him, however, had Q’s mouth dropping open and his blood running cold.  He immediately spun on James, snapping at him in a hurt, angry voice, “You said you didn’t hurt him!”  

“I-”

“He’s not as tough as some droids, Bond!  He’s got so many parts from so many different models patched onto him that his structural integrity is compromised,” Q cut him off, feeling a bit gutted by the state that Catchpenny was in.  The droid had been sitting on the floor when Q came in, but stood up now, his movements stiff and his right arm next to useless.  The realization that James could do this was staggering, and Q found himself turning away from the man, back to the droid, feeling shaken.  “Just-  Just don’t say anything, JB-007,” Q shook his head hard, feeling overwhelmed.  It was in a spark of anger that he reverted to James’ First Order designation, although he didn’t turn around to see if the blond-haired man flinched.  Instead, Q started looking around for his tools, and thankfully saw his bag across the room.  Catchpenny blinked at him, looking vaguely overwhelmed himself, or as close to it as he could be with so much of his face missing.  Pushing down the pain that was still fogging his head, Q strode over and dragged his bag out, starting and stopping sentences because he was so horrified and mad.  He’d always known that James was capable of a lot of violence, what with him being a Stormtrooper, but somehow he hadn’t expected anything like this, and he wasn’t sure if he could accept it.  “I’m going to patch him up,” Q finally got a full sentence out, the words bitten off and hard.

This whole while, JB-007 had been leaning silently against the open door.  Now, all he did by way of response was to sigh deeply, then inhale slowly, and murmur, “I’ll see if I can talk to the captain,” and turn to leave.

“Don’t know why he didn’t try that himself before now,” Q griped to himself as he dragged his bag over to Catchpenny, gesturing that they should go sit down.

Unexpectedly, the droid decided to break his silence and answer the question, “JB-007 would not leave your side.”

Q looked up at Catchpenny, whose face was guileless and open and ruined.  “I don’t know why you’re defending him.” He decided not to correct the title given.  

When Q reached forward for Catchpenny’s bad arm, the droid extended it shakily - although the tremors had nothing to do with hesitation, and everything to do with damaged motor functions.  It made Q sick to think that James had done this, although he had to wonder how… on closer inspection, this was some pretty impressive damage.  Catchpenny’s arm had been seared right down to its base struts and wires, and Q’s brain stalled for a moment as he tried to think of just what weapons James had bought, and whether or not they’d do this.  His brain was still in something of a fog in the wake of the poison he’d endured, or else he’d have probably cottoned on to this earlier.  Instead, just as the reality of the situation began to dawn, Catchpenny chirped in his warbling voice, “It was Master who damaged me.  When I stole the antidote and ran away.”  He paused, and his mouth twitched in a rusty attempt at a smile, made grotesque by all of the fleshcoat missing from one side of his head.  “It was worth it.”

 Instead of taking the time to debate whether or not this kind of structural damage really was worth it, Q just stared forward into the middle distance, lifting a hand to cover his mouth.  “Shit,” he muttered against his palm, with feeling.  “Q, you stupid fool.”  

Catchpenny perhaps heard a bit of that last sentence, and cocked his head.  Q’s other hand still grasped the droid’s ruined wrist, but without any working pain receptors, Catchpenny didn’t mind.  “JB-007 did point a gun at me,” he said, as if seeking an answer that would help in some way.  

“But he didn’t even touch you, did he?” Q asked, drowning in the realization that he’d just impulsively blamed Bond for something he hadn’t done.  Of course, it was the blond bastard’s fault for not even arguing, but still.  This must have been what Eve was talking about when she lectured about anger leading to the Dark Side for Jedis…  

By this point, it was no surprise (although it did make Q feel exponentially more horrible) that Catchpenny shook his head ‘no.’  “He informed me that I could either go into this room and stay, or be decommissioned, but then he waited for me to choose one or the other,” Catchpenny elaborated.  While the double-harmonic of his voice made it hard to decipher tone, he didn’t appear to see anything wrong with this scenario.  Then again, Catchpenny had probably been faced with horrible options for all of his time with Kristatos, and it sounded like James had been far more polite about it than the gun-seller had been.  While Q didn’t exactly approve of giving someone ‘obey or die’ as their only options (since that was truly no option at all), he did have to admit that he’d misjudged Bond in a big way.  

“Let me make sure that you aren’t getting any erroneous feedback from the damaged area of your arm,” Q eventually said, realizing that he couldn’t very well abandon the droid now just to chase down Bond and apologize.  

Catchpenny was apparently no fool, however, and proceeded to cock his head the other way and say innocently, “And then you will seek out your companion?”  When Q looked at the droid sharply, trying to determine if there was more shrewdness in Catchpenny than previously thought, the droid simply went on, “He will need your assistance in speaking Cekl.  When I told him about the substance that would ameliorate your symptoms, he informed me that he did not speak the language, but needed to.”  Another head cock, this time baring the desecrated side of Catchpenny’s head, black and slick like ink instead of flesh-toned.  “Do you speak Cekl?”

With a sigh, Q nodded, and that seemed to delight Catchpenny disproportionately.  In fact, the little droid seemed almost chipper as Q got his tools out and began to address at least the most immediate damage to Catchpenny’s person.  It was a bit difficult, since Q was still aching, and since Catchpenny’s internal sensors didn’t seem to be working very well - and possibly hadn’t been working properly for some time now.  It made it difficult to just ask the droid where else he was damaged.  Fortunately, his arm seemed to be the only pressing issue, although Q ultimately realized that there would be no fixing it today - it would take hours and hours as well as supplies he simply didn’t have.  The boffin ended up just deactivating all of the receptors around the damaged area, so that Catchpenny would no longer ‘feel’ anything from the limb until Q could think a bit straighter.  “Are you okay for now?  I’m going to leave, but I’ll be right back.”

Catchpenny’s sun-bleached eyes had never left Q this whole time, and now he was quick to nod.  He almost sounded eager as he replied, “I will stay in this room.”  Q suppressed another sigh as he realized that he also desperately needed to fix Catchpenny’s voice.

Deciding not to argue with the droid (the room wasn’t bad so far as prisons went, and it really was for the best that Catchpenny stay put), Q reached out without thinking and gave Catchpenny’s good hand a squeeze.  He turned away before he saw the way the droid’s eyes widened, and even after the door closed, Catchpenny was staring at his own hand, turning it back and forth as if marvelling at the sensation that he’d catalogued.  Instead of protectively curling his damaged limb to his chest, Catchpenny ended up clutching the other one, that Q had touched, close.  

~^~

Getting down the ladder out of the Nebelung ship was almost more than Q could take, what with his body’s protests, but Q just kept telling himself that it was lightyears better than it had been - and he needed to get to James and apologize.  So, he somehow made it down without falling, and shambled stiffly towards the captain’s home where they’d been staying.  

He found James and the captain in the dining area, both of them performing some truly amusing charades in an attempt to get their ideas across.  It was enough to make Q stop in the entranceway and smile, delaying his chosen task for a moment just to observe.  However, since Q understood both of them, he soon had enough information to speak out.  James and the captain turned in surprise as Q used his passable amount of Cekl to describe the item Bond had been asking for.  Initially, upon turning, James had tensed a bit.  Q had expected the man to relax once he recognized that Q was no intruder, but instead the Stormtrooper’s expression became aloof and closed off, reminding Q why he’d walked in here in the first place.  So while the Ceklin (who had immediately recognized what Q was alluding to) bustled off to find the bug vomit that Catchpenny had recommended, that left Q and James in awkward silence.  

It was Q who cleared his throat and spoke first.  “You’re quite a martyr, you know.”

That didn’t seem to be the expected opener James had been prepared for, and his unreadable mask broke a bit to reveal surprise.  “Am I now?”

Q flicked his eyes away, uncomfortable, but he replied candidly nonetheless, “Only a martyr would just stand there and take it when someone accused them of such blatant lies.”  Looking back at James out of the corner of his eye, aware that he himself was flushed an embarrassed pink by now for sure, Q added more softly, “Catchpenny told me the truth right after you left.  You could have corrected me yourself.”

James was looking at him steadily now, and just raised one eyebrow after a long pause.  “Would you have believed me if I did?”

That stung, but it was a fair question.  Q gave it the thought it deserved, and then grimaced and folded his arms defensively.  He made a distressed noise, trying to find the words to apologize for his own lack of faith, but James cut him off with a surprisingly benevolent wave of one hand.  

“Don’t sweat it, Q.  I shouldn’t have expected you to trust me instantly.”  The Stormtrooper’s body language was relaxing a bit, becoming more open, and Q was surprised by how much that made him relax in return.  “We haven’t actually known enough other all that long, and weren’t thrown together under the best of circumstances to begin with.  I did dislocate your arm within five minutes of meeting you.”

  “Yes, but you’ve never done anything remotely like what was done to Catchpenny’s arm,” Q argued back, wanting to make it clear that he’d learned something from this - namely, that JB-007 was not a monster.  “To say nothing about the rest of the damage he sustained.”

James opened his mouth to reply, but before he could add anything to that statement (to endorse it or argue against it, Q had no idea), the Ceklin captain came back in with a sealed container of some kind.  It was opaque, so Q couldn’t see what was in it, but by the description the captain gave, it apparently was the much-sought bug vomit.  Q tried to turn his squeamish expression into a grateful smile, since the captain seemed quite proud of the find - and in fact said that Q and James should take it all with them.  He’d get more himself.  By this point, James looked like he was fighting the urge to snicker, the bastard.  Under the guise of being helpful, James stepped forward and twisted the lid off the container, and even fetched a spoon.  The darkness of the container made the stuff within hard to distinguish, although the smell was faintly smoky and sweet when Q brought it close to his nose.  He made a face but nonetheless accepted the spoon, while the Ceklin started talking about the First Order ship that they’d given him.  

“He says that he’s pleased with the trade, so Glaurung is officially ours,” Q interpreted to James, who had moved back to lean against the wall, content to just watch and listen.  Q dipped the spoon into the container, and what came out was thick and viscous - although at least it became a pleasing golden colour once it was no longer in shadow.  

Q eyed it distrustfully until James reminded, “It’ll do you more good than harm.”  His mouth kicked upwards on one side, a bit impish.  “Or so I’m told.”

Because he was still feeling pretty rough, and definitely wanted these lingering symptoms to go away, Q sighed and stuck his tongue out so that he could just touch the tip of it to the golden stuff already running off the edges of the spoon.  That for some reason shut James up, although Q wasn’t paying attention because the flavour exploding across his tastebuds surprised him.  “Oh!  It’s quite sweet,” he declared, blinking in satisfaction before turning and calling out to the Ceklin captain (who was leaving the room for chores unknown) to ask how much of this he was safe to eat.  The captain said that it was like any food, and Q could eat the whole jar if he wanted, with no more risk than a sore stomach.  That assumed Q was human, the captain clarified, and Q nodded to indicate that that judgment was correct.  Q slid his eyes James’ way, but decided not to ask whether a part-Shezarand should be having honey.  

~^~

Q continued to linger over the honey as he and James walked back out to Glaurung, some level of camaraderie reestablished between them.  A few times James asked whether or not the honey really tasted all that good, seeing as it was insect vomit, but despite Q’s reassurance that it was really quite delightful, the Stormtrooper never asked for any.  He did watch Q eat it.  Watched quite closely, in fact, although Q couldn’t imagine where the sudden fascination came from.  Sucking happily at the spoon and humming as the sweetness nearly overloaded his mouth, Q focused on how his joints already felt just a tad better.  Maybe it was a placebo effect - he didn’t care.  It tasted good, and the results were positive.  In fact, Q was rather loath to put it away once they reached the hatch to the Nebelung ship, and James ended up reaching over and liberating the container from Q’s hands.  “Did you ever ask the captain if this stuff is addictive?”

“He said it was no more addictive than any other food,” Q sniffed, offended at the implication that he was becoming obsessed.  To prove that he wasn’t, he turned and began climbing the ladder, licked-clean spoon shoved into his belt like a small weapon.  “And do you really think Catchpenny would recommend an addictive substance?”

“No,” James reluctantly admitted from below Q.  He added on more that Q hadn’t known, “He said that he was originally a bedside-nurse droid, and even if I don’t trust his original programming to be fully functional anymore, he clearly adores you.”  When Q turned around on the ladder to look down at James questioningly, James spread his hands and defended, “He and I talked, in between panicking about what to do with you.”

“About what?”

“Not much more than that.  He’s glitchy as all hell, though, so I’m not sure what to make of what he did say.”  

Q pursed his lips, unhappy with that statement but unable to argue with it.  He’d already seen enough of the droid to know that he wasn’t running with all of his original parts and programming, and grafting diverse tech onto a droid was sketchy at the best of times - and Q severely doubted that Kristatos had been an expert at interdisciplinary droid mechanics.  That thought made Q angry, and he didn’t realize how angry until James made a noise of mild surprise and Q looked down to realize that dust had been tossed around at the base of the ladder, despite there being no wind at the moment.  “Sorry,” Q mumbled, embarrassed.  

“Hey, I’m just glad that that didn’t seem directed at me,” James replied honestly, then looked up with raised brows, “Was it?”

“No.”  Q kept climbing, and forced out an awkward admittance just as he reached the top, “I’m actually a bit short on control ever since I woke up.”

James heard him, but apparently was less worried than Q was, because he called back easily, “To be fair, you never had much control to begin with.”

“You are very lucky, Bond, that I do not throw you off this ladder right the fuck now.”

Because James was part Shezarand, however, that comment backfired: he chuckled, low and pleased.  “Language,” the Stormtrooper teased.  It was only because Q was a Jedi and he didn’t want to sidle closer to the Dark Side that he resisted the urge to follow through on his threat.  

Once back up in the belly of what was now officially their ship, Q led the way back towards what was now (apparently) his room, where Catchpenny was more or less right where he’d left him.  Catchpenny perked up at seeing Q, although his eyes focused behind the Jedi almost instantly - he seemed a bit more wary of Bond, although not truly afraid.  Just looking at this reaction further eased Q’s mind, because if James had attacked Catchpenny, the little droid would surely have been more anxiety-ridden.  James took up a relaxed position by the door, probably to ensure Catchpenny didn’t run out, but with body language that didn’t explicitly say so.  

“Did you assist JB-007 in speaking Cekl?” Catchpenny asked with polite alertness, and as always, Q had to hold back a wince at the sound of the droid’s voice.  

Recalling that he’d reverted back to Bond’s Stormtrooper designation previously, and that Catchpenny had taken that as the man’s actual name, Q awkwardly worked his mouth for a moment before saying, “Er… Yes, but…  But his name is Bond.  James Bond.”

Catchpenny merely canted his head.  His expression gave no indication that he’d even registered someone else speaking to him, and there was a light grinding noise as various joints in his neck moved.  The poor thing probably needed a good oiling, at least where his fleshcoat had been torn away - fleshcoats were for more than just looks, as they also kept grit and dirt out, and prevented the parts beneath from drying out.  More immediately, though, Q was faced with the quandary of re-teaching James’ actual name now that Catchpenny seemed to have permanently logged the first title he’d heard.  

“Glitchy,” James reminded simply, but then surprised Q by also saying, “007 is fine.”   

In one blink, Catchpenny’s focus seemed to come online again, and he attempted a friendly smile.  “Hello, 007.  Were you able to procure the substance I prescribed?”  The droid seemed very pleased to be asking the question… or perhaps he wasn’t as glitchy as everyone thought, and was just gleeful that he could now call Bond what he wanted to.  Q would have been a bit miffed if he weren’t so amused by the possibility.  

While James nodded and said that he had, maintaining the polite conversation that Catchpenny sort of returned (sometimes he seemed to freeze up, or jump to different topics without warning, only to revert back to the old one), Q turned his attention back to patching up the new addition to their little team.

~^~

Chapter Text

Q loved playing with tech of all kinds: creating his own lightsaber had been a highlight of his entire life, and now the prospect of learning more and more about the complex mechanics of the Nebelung ship was just about enough to give him wet dreams.  Certain kinds of tech always had a soft spot in Q’s heart, however - namely, those that affected people.  James’ arm, for example.  Prosthetics were always tricky to work with because there was a living, breathing body attached, but that living, breathing body was also far more grateful than a hunk of metal like a ship.  The challenge was always worth it to Q, especially when he was able to see someone’s life actively improved by his work.  That also extended to droids, because while many people considered them nothing more than particularly articulate tools, Q was such a technophile that sometimes droids were more human to him than, well, humans.  They also were some of the only tech that could tell him, in detail, what was wrong with them and how they needed his help fixing it.  

Catchpenny, though… Catchpenny was a different story.

For starters, James hadn’t been kidding when he said Catchpenny was glitchy.  Q had noticed it from his first interaction with the misused little droid, and every new second reinforced those first impressions.  One of the first things Q had learned about droid repair and maintenance was that you wanted to find original parts whenever possible, unless you were fully prepared to do the extra work necessary to get foreign pieces to correctly integrate with the droid you were working on.  Just like it was risky, unwise, and generally complicated to graft alien parts onto a human body, so it was ill-advised to patch up an android with parts from different models.  The same went for internal coding.  

Poor Catchpenny was a hodgepodge of so many parts and so much grafted coding that if James hadn’t said Catchpenny identified himself as a bedside-nurse droid, Q wouldn’t have known.  “That bastard Kristatos clearly fancies himself a top-notch droid mechanic,” Q snarked at one point, as he started trying to work in Catchpenny’s vocal processors only to find out that they weren’t damaged - they were a conglomeration of parts that had never been wired together correctly in the first place.  Catchpenny merely tipped his head back further, as mute and well-behaved as a doll while Q fumed wrathfully on his behalf.  To make matters trickier, Q wasn’t ready to reveal that he was a Jedi, and right now he wanted nothing more than to hurl something around with the Force.  Perhaps it was for the best that the ache in his joints kept him distracted, so that wielding his Jedi powers would have been tricky.

With the tools and supplies Q had on hand, there was a limit to what he could do for Catchpenny, and seemingly no limit on things wrong with the droid.  Even if none of the mechanical issues was too serious, Catchpenny was tantamount to a threadbare blanket - so much was frayed, and so little of the original was left.  And then there was the coding, because of course Kristatos had decided to mess with that, too.  What was the use in having an android coded to deliver medications and tend to patients, when what the man needed was a pleasure-droid who knew how to make people happy?  Now, if the augments to Catchpenny’s code had been well done, there would have been no sign of it - good coding was so natural and seamless that it became invisible.  Catchpenny’s was so bad that Q didn’t even need to hook Catchpenny up to an external reader to know that changes and edits had been made.  The most obvious giveaway was how Catchpenny started and stopped discussions, as if he was following multiple logic-pathways at once, which he probably was.   Kristatos had somehow found himself a droid, and had tried to twist that droid into something that he could use, with no skill or thought for the consequences.

“Q,” James intoned in a low undertone, faintly warning.  The Stormtrooper was still leaning against the doorway, keeping his distance and only occasionally adding to the stilted conversations that Q and Catchpenny were having.  Now he was speaking up, though, stating, “I can feel how angry you are from here.”

“Can you now?” Q spat, still trying to get grit out from between the black bioacrylic bands that controlled the movement of Catchpenny’s head and neck.  It was a miracle that the motors hadn’t seized up, and beneath the bioacrylic muscles and tendons, Q could see bits of Catchpenny’s internal support structure.  Pleasure-droids needed a good, easily cleaned fleshcoat for obvious reasons, and Q was trying very hard not to think about just what kinds of gunk might have gotten into Catchpenny’s various nooks and crannies.  

Instead of taking offence at Q’s tone, James replied obliquely, “Let’s just say you feel a lot more dangerous when you’re mad, and I’ve got a nose for that kind of thing.”

Catchpenny, predictably, chose then to tune in to the conversation.  Something in his neck gave an awful grinding noise as he tilted his head, asking, “You are capable of scenting emotions, 007?”  

While Q just sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose to ward off a headache, James replied congenially, “I’ve got a nose for trouble.”

Before Catchpenny could become confused by the tongue-in-cheek phrase, Q redirected everything back to the task at hand and away from the troubleseeking part-Shezarand, “All right, all right - just ignore James for now, please?  He’s made his point-”  Q glanced over his shoulder long enough to meet James’ eyes, hoping to convey that he understood, and would try to calm down.  An angry Jedi truly was a bad thing, Q was aware.  Looking back to Catchpenny’s guileless, sun-bleached eyes, Q went on, “-And I think we should focus on your arm a bit more.”  When Catchpenny looked over at the blasted limb as if he’d somehow forgotten all about it, Q coaxed, “I think that it would be easier on both of us if I just disconnected it for maintenance, don’t you?”

The reaction was immediate, and unexpected.  Whereas Catchpenny’s reactions had been slow and lukewarm most of today - a water-colour imitation of normal human responses - the droid’s attention now snapped back to Q suddenly, and his posture tightened in a way that could only be interpreted as a flinch, gears grinding.  “My limb does not need removal,” Catchpenny said so quickly that the double-harmonic of his voice (Q had tried his best but hadn’t fixed it yet) nearly garbled the meaning of his words. 

Up until now, Catchpenny had been amenable to Q’s touch.  He’d let the Jedi nudge and prod at him, squirt oil between fragile neck-joints, even turn off some of his internal sensors when Q felt it necessary (Catchpenny already had enough competing internal input, and didn’t need more erroneous feedback while Q tinkered).  Now, though, Catchpenny stiffly but swiftly retracted the arm that he’d previously let Q touch all over.  Delicate metal finger-struts curled into a loose fist, and he curled his other, working hand around the twisted plastic at his opposite elbow - one of the most easily accessible detachment points for the limb.  Catchpenny’s face had gone blank of emotion, but Q could hear his internal fans whirring, usually a warning sign of overheating - which in turn was a lesser-known sign of anxiety in androids.  Q knew to look for it.  

When neither Q nor James immediately said anything, another coding glitch showed, in the form of Catchpenny repeating the exact same phrase like a recording being played, “My limb does not need removal.”  

“Catchpenny, it’s okay-” Q tried, but the droid cut him off as if he hadn’t registered the sentence.

“I will be more serviceable with this limb than without it.”

With a jolt, Q began to realize where this response was coming from.  Putting his tools down carefully so that he could show open hands, Q said gently from where he knelt in front of the droid, “I know that - and that’s why I’m not taking away your arm forever.  I just need to fix it, and it’s going to be a lot easier to do that if-”

The android cut him off again, still in that rushed speech, “My limb does not need removal.”  He was starting to strain his voice, the increased speed not only inhuman but also adding extra stress to processors that were already pretty fragile.  

Many people didn’t believe that androids could feel emotions, but Q was of the mind that they did - and that Catchpenny, beneath his motionless sitting posture and unblinking, faded eyes, was terrified.  While Q was mentally scrambling for some way to handle this, he was startled by a hand on his shoulder.  It was incredible how quietly James could move, as Q hadn’t heard him approach, and Catchpenny’s programming seemed to have stuttered again - his eyes remained locked on Q as if the Stormtrooper didn't exist right now.  “Q?” the Stormtrooper said his name more gently than expected.

“What?”

James was gazing down to meet Q’s eyes when the Jedi twisted to look up at him, but then flicked his attention to Catchpenny as he said carefully, “Didn’t you say that you needed to detach my arm, too?  Something about managing the reattachment feedback?”

For a moment, Q just frowned at James, then he heard a little whir and click of Catchpenny moving - the droid had turned his head to look at James now, and the stiff look of fear giving way to blinks of perplexion.  It wasn’t exactly a positive response, but it wasn’t worse, so Q played along.  He had a feeling he knew where this was going, although he was a bit surprised that James was volunteering to have his prosthetic arm pulled off just for the peace of mind of an android.  “Oh, yes.  You know, it would be a good idea to do that now - if only so I know what parts to buy the next trading colony we get to.”

James was clearly watching Catchpenny as much as he was focusing on Q.  The blond-haired man now had the faintest of smiles playing at one corner of his mouth - all benevolent mischief, and it was a surprisingly good look on him.  Good enough, in fact, that Q was guilty of staring just a little shamelessly.  “Do you think you could move over, droid, so that I can sit down and have our favourite person look me over?”

Momentarily distracted by the words ‘our favourite person’ and ‘look me over,’ Q just blinked and stared even as Catchpenny did that birdlike canting of his head again.  All the droid said was, “Q is our favourite person,” and then scooted to one side.  The fact that there was plenty of room (no scooting necessary) went unnoticed, another sign of gaps in poor Catchpenny’s muddled programming.  Still, it was all worth it to see James step over and sit down right next to the droid, who for his part just stared fixedly at the Stormtrooper like a harmless Fiyalkin rock-lizard eyeing a nice warm rock.  Apparently, Catchpenny was only capable of being scared of one thing at once, and therefore didn’t have the capacity to worry about sitting shoulder-to-shoulder with a Stormtrooper.  

James’ left, prosthetic arm was up against Catchpenny’s ruined right one, and the droid looked small and slight next to Bond’s muscular build.  James was looking at Q in a calm and trusting way, though, where Catchpenny had looked upon Q with trepidation, and when Q met Bond’s gaze the Stormtrooper flashed him a quick wink.  “Well, Q, do you want me to take the arm off, or are you up to the task?” James tossed out the challenge lightly.  

Catchpenny’s eyes widened a bit at that, and he glanced back and forth between Q and James as if unable to believe this.  The droid grew even more surprised when Q, fighting to remain straight-faced in the wake of James’ antics, knelt up and retorted, “I’ll probably take it off more gently than you will.”  

Things progressed in jumps and starts after that.  James’ next move was to start taking off his shirt, because it would make his shoulder easier to access, but it was quickly clear that this made Catchpenny nervous - and of course it would, since Kristatos had been using the droid as a cheap whore for who-knew-how-long.  After some awkward flailing and soothing of unsettled android nerves, James just rolled his sleeve up as far as it would go.  With him holding it out of the way, Q was able to lean in and carefully pull back the tanned fleshcoat, quickly getting to the synthetic joint beneath.  At this point Catchpenny started leaning in again, his expression stuck somewhere between horrified and enraptured as he watched James getting his arm taken off.  The last time James had had his prosthetic removed, he’d made a face, but this time managed to hold a smile in place for Catchpenny’s benefit.  

Soon, Q had James’ left arm in his lap, and was checking it over with due diligence while James acted for all the world like this was something the two of them did daily.  Catchpenny, meanwhile, fretted.  He couldn’t seem to decide what to do with himself, and there were clicks and whirs as he sometimes leaned towards Bond, sometimes made as if to reach for Bond’s arm, sometimes clutched his own arm possessively.  Q was pretty sure that at least twice Catchpenny seriously considered ‘rescuing’ James’ arm from Q.  “Your arm was undamaged.  Do not remove a functional limb,” Catchpenny all but scolded James at one point, and Q would have laughed if the droid didn’t sound so sincerely distressed about it all.  James calmly explained a bit about the feedback issues, but Catchpenny’s focus wasn’t good at the best of times, and it was soon clear that James wasn’t being listened to.

The next thing that Catchpenny said was hushed and heartbreaking, and directed at Q: “That arm is very serviceable.  007 will not function as well if you replace it.”  As he said this, Catchpenny curved his body subtly but significantly away from Q, as if to avoid any kind of reprisal for his remark - or keep Q from reaching for his arm, too, which was certainly not serviceable.  

“Catchpenny,” Q finally had to ask, looking up from where he’d been checking the connection-ports at the prosthetic’s base, “Do you have your limbs… replaced often?”

Meeting Q dead in the eye and not even blinking, the droid said unhesitantly, “Master frequently finds reason to change out parts he does not like.”  

Some of Q’s tools rattled, and it took an effort for Q to pushed down his anger before he broke something with the Force.  “He’s not your master anymore,” he said firmly, “And I promise you that I will never remove anything of yours without your permission - except to save your life.”

Catchpenny cocked his head.  “Save my life?”

“Q doesn’t want to see you decommissioned, Catchpenny,” James elaborated gently.  The droid relaxed a bit for the first time since Q had reached for his arm, and looked between Q and James a few times, creaking, whirring, and blinking slowly.  ‘Life’ could be an odd concept when it came to robotic beings, but Catchpenny seemed to be slowly digesting the idea that he had a life that someone found of value.  

“So you do not wish…” Catchpenny tried out a question, focusing on Q, “...to remove limbs?”

“I only do it to make things better,” Q tried to simplify, “James’ arm hurts him sometimes.”

“Mine doesn’t hurt me,” Catchpenny was quick to return.  He sounded utterly guileless, but Q suddenly realized that he had no idea whether or not bedside-nurse droids came equipped with complex lying algorithms… or if Kristatos had given Catchpenny any.  Even if Catchpenny was telling the truth, it was likely only because Q had turned off a lot of internal sensors.

Deciding that he’d never win this argument until he convinced Catchpenny that he wasn’t an arm-thief, Q exhaled slowly through his nose and then knelt up again, cradling James’ arm carefully.  “All right, James, ready for me to put this back on?”

“Always happy to have both arms back,” James said cheerily by way of answer, and rolled back his sleeve again.  Catchpenny’s face froze, expressionless, but Q was still able to distinguish unadulterated shock somewhere in the non-expression - it was heartbreaking how surprised the droid was that Q was just giving James his prosthetic back.  Q hadn’t actually had any opportunity to make any changes to the limb, so the moment it reconnected had to be just as painful as before.  Knowing that he had a very impressionable audience this time, however, James bit his lip hard and Q watched sympathetically as the blond-haired man hid the pain with all his might.  Fortunately, Catchpenny was mostly just staring at the arm, as it locked back into place and Q took the time to smooth the fleshcoat down to hide the seam again.  

“There,” Q forced a bit of joviality himself, even though he was watching James’ face, and how his eyes were closed and there was a muscle in his jaw slowly loosening, “Perfectly back in place again.  See, Catchpenny?  Just a temporary removal, to fix things.”  

“So you would give my arm back?  This arm, not another one?”

God, how many times had Catchpenny had an entire limb removed, and been forced to learn how to use a new one, just on someone’s whim?  “Yes.  I might have to take it off you for an hour or two, but you could sit right by me as I worked on it - and then I’d put it back on.”  Things would get tricky, of course, if the arm was unsalvageable, but for now what Catchpenny needed stability more than he needed mobility.  Q was honestly willing to let Catchpenny keep that wreck of an arm as long as he wanted it, if it helped build the little android’s trust.  

At that moment, James’ hand gave an unexpected flex.  It wasn’t much, and Catchpenny didn’t take note of it, but when Q looked from the hand to James’ face, the older man mouthed, “MI6,” and Q understood.  

However, when Q nodded and James made to stand up and presumably answer MI6’s call, Catchpenny unexpectedly turned to him.  “You have said that I am not to leave this room.”  Not waiting for a response (damn, his logicboard really did have some serious gaps in it), Catchpenny went on as if a positive response had been given, “Will you ensure that my arm also does not leave?  It is me.  All of me is me.”  A slight head-tilt, a slow blink.  “Most of me is me,” the android ended up correcting, and Q nearly rattled things with the Force again as sadness and anger filled him.  Catchpenny was very likely so glitchy that he didn’t have a dependable sense of what parts were original to his body or not, but if he thought this arm was one of his original pieces, then no wonder he’d been so scared of having it removed.  

James’ face was twisting like he’d tasted something bad, and instead of standing the rest of the way up and leaving, he unexpectedly sat back down again.  Running a hand over his face and releasing what sounded like a resigned sigh, the Stormtrooper muttered against his palm, “Yes, droid, I’ll make sure that your arm stays right here - with you.”

That finally seemed to settle Catchpenny.  Instead of being bothered by James’ surly tone (which seemed a bit faked, in Q’s opinion), Catchpenny unexpectedly tried to put on a smile.  Since the right side of his face had had a lot of the fleshcoat ripped away, it was a bit of a gruesome, lopsided smile, but the effort was there.  And the important part was, right after that, he stuck his right arm out as if that’s all he’d ever wanted to do - there wasn’t even a flinch as Q reached forward and began figuring out the detachment mechanisms.  The damage to Catchpenny’s arm was extensive enough that removing it at the elbow wasn’t possible with Q’s current tools, so he ended up asking if he could remove the limb at the shoulder, like he had Bond’s.  Apparently happy as a clam now, Catchpenny said that he was “happy to be treated as 007 was.”

Sometimes, Q wondered if Catchpenny was perhaps just the tiniest bit manipulative, because at moments like these, it seemed like Q and James both ended up doing exactly what the battered little droid wanted.  There were worse fates than being wrapped around the little finger of a badly damaged droid, though.

~^~

There were worse fates than babysitting a Jedi and a droid, James thought, even if that did mean ignoring M.  He was sure to pay for that later, although he was sure he could concoct some respectable reason for delaying his response.  And he had to admit that it was rather nice to just stretch out and relax after the day he’d had.  The sounds of Q tinkering away, sometimes muttering things, sometimes talking to Catchpenny, Catchpenny sometimes talking back in that stilted way of his - all of that was surprisingly soothing, too.  With that in the background, James ended up stretched out on the room’s serviceable bunk.  In the same way that Catchpenny had gotten skittish at the suggestion of James undressing earlier, the involvement of James plus a bed also had the droid growing alert, but after about fifteen minutes of James just lying still and not moving, Catchpenny went back to watching Q.  From then on, the atmosphere in the room became almost calm, save for the little moments when James had to remind Q not to use the Force (a quiet, warning “Q” tended to do the trick) or when Q would stop, grimace, and flex some joint or other like it was still aching him.  James had left the container of honey outside the room, so Q would have to get some later.  

Q’s skills with tech were sincerely impressive.  James would have labelled the droid’s arm as unsalvageable, yet here Q was, pulling a miracle out of that bag of his.  Supplies that had held no meaning to Bond when they’d bought them were now being put to use, patching up scorched metal and replacing melted wires.  Instead of taking a nap as he’d half-planned to, James ended up with an arm propped behind his head, just watching the Jedi work.  

It was almost an hour later before Q reattached the limb to Catchpenny’s shoulder, but apparently by then Q had reaffirmed his trustworthiness, because the droid was patient and calm.  The good side of Catchpenny’s face even stretched in a delighted smile as the limb was back in place (without any discernible sensor feedback, James noticed with some jealousy, a phantom ache still in his own shoulder).  “There, does that move a bit better?” Q asked, “I’ll try to get more parts to make it look a bit nicer later, but I was able to do a bit of patching now.”

When Catchpenny replied in the affirmative, but then nodded with a light grinding of gears in his neck, Q then returned to fretting over maintenance again.  Finding himself more fond than he wanted to admit, James reluctantly sat up.  Two sets of eyes immediately snapped to him, as if belatedly remembering that the ex-Stormtrooper in the room existed.  “I think that my work here is done, now that there’s no chance of you running off with anyone’s arm,” James said drolly, grinning when Q made a face at him.  Who knew teasing Jedis could be so fun?  “I’ll just be in the other room, but then I think we’ve got to get airborne.”

“So soon?” Q asked.

James nodded reluctantly, then glanced at Catchpenny’s guileless face.  “I don’t think it’s a good idea for any of us to stick around Scasla much longer.  I hope your new droid is up for some travelling.”

“I will go where Q goes,” Catchpenny chose to respond, sounding very happy with this decision.  Even happier, in fact, when he added, “He is my patient.”  He looked quite proud of that fact, and neither James nor Q saw any reason to correct that label.  The poor droid had been acting outside of his original programming for so long that this situation (even though it was essentially a kidnapping) was probably a relief.  

Digging out the joint-oil and a rag again, Q shuffled around until Catchpenny let him at his bare nape, joints and bioacrylic all in sore need of TLC.  “Tell me what the call is about later?” Q asked obliquely, as James reached the door.  

“Oh, you might hear the yelling from all the way in here, if this is about what I think it is,” James chuckled back, with a little wave of his prosthetic hand.  

Q snorted, but wasn’t done speaking yet, calling out, “And then we can talk about just what sort of… details… we can share with Catchpenny?”

It went against James’ nature to share secrets of any kind, but he nonetheless held back the instinctive, blunt, “No” and instead gave a more tempered, “Sure.  We can discuss it,” before closing the door behind him.  If they were truly going to add a droid to their team, it was probably inevitable that some secrets be spilt, but that didn’t mean Bond couldn’t hold off the inevitable as long as he could.

~^~

“007, you had better have a damn good explanation for the rumours I’m hearing about you right now.”  M’s voice, even though it was tinny through the speaker in Bond’s palm, held a lot of very audible fire in it.  James winced.  

Still, he kept his voice light as he lounged in the pilot’s seat and replied, “What rumours are we talking about exactly?”

“You do not want to be smart with me right now, Bond.  I’m talking about the fact that suddenly, without warning, you have become a Jedi.”

“Ohhh, that rumour,” James feigned an epiphany, despite M’s warning that now wasn’t a good time to play with her.  Being part Shezarand meant that James just couldn't resist.  “And here I thought you were angry because I was selling a First Order ship illegally.  The Regial has a new owner now, by the way, but I imagine he’ll scrap her.”

“I don’t care if you shoved that entire ship up your arse, 007.  Explain to me, right now, why everyone thinks that they somehow missed the fact that one of their Stormtroopers was secretly a Jedi.”

Realizing that there was no point in demurring, James sighed and pushed down on his troubleseeking urges.  Running his real hand over his face once to collect his thoughts (M was good enough to be silent and wait), James eventually replied, “Circumstances required me to use Q’s lightsaber.  In my defence, it’s not my fault that people immediately assume that using a lightsaber means you’re a Jedi.”

M swore more colourfully than James had ever heard.  It was enough to make his eyebrows wing upwards towards his hairline.  Then she muttered something about Bond and his genetic addiction to danger, and James couldn’t honestly argue with her - using Q’s saber had really been quite a head-rush.  Honestly, just thinking about the weapon caused a little echo of adrenaline to zip down his spine.  He got almost the same feeling when he thought about Q’s anger from a few hours ago...  

“I’m beginning to reconsider the wisdom in charging a part-Shezarand with keeping a Jedi safe,” M finally said, sounding resigned.  

“I’m enjoying it.”

“Of course you are, because you’re keeping company with one of the most dangerous beings in the universe.”

“I don’t know if I’d call Q dangerous.  He’s just a pup still, and not very trained.”

M wasn’t impressed by James’ excuses.  She deadpanned, “Yes, but he’s got a very lethal toy, and the potential to be very dangerous.”

Feeling increasingly cornered by this avenue of conversation, James frowned and muttered a bit childishly, “So?”

“So, I’m telling you not to get high off your Jedi.”

“You’re saying this like he’s some sort of drug.”

“To you, I rather think he is.”

Now full-on scowling, James bit back, “Is there a purpose to this conversation, or do you just like berating me about my genetic abnormalities?”

The sigh on the other end of the line was world-weary, but at least M dropped the subject.  “I wanted to let you know that some members of the First Order are seriously considering the possibility that you might be a Jedi, although they haven’t made any definitive, official statement yet that my sources have heard.  The upside is that your Q is almost off the radar now - although if things get any hotter for you, then it becomes a moot point.”

“Because the First Order will be after me just as much as they were ever after him.”

“Exactly.  So keep your damn head down, 007,” M ordered sternly - then added as an important afterthought, “And keep your hands off that lightsaber of his.”  With that, she cut the line.  

Glaring at his palm where M’s voice had been exiting, James griped back even though she couldn’t hear him, “Bossy space-witch.”  He’d never say that to her face, though, because even being part-Shezarand didn’t make him that stupid.  Sighing and closing his eyes, James sagged back in the pilot’s chair, sorting through everything he’d just learned.  

A little tingling at the back of his mind told him that someone was approaching, so he wasn’t surprised when he heard Q ask a moment later, “So are we in hot water again?”

Not opening his eyes, James murmured, “We’ve always been in hot water.”

“True.”  Q’s footsteps circled around, and there was a faint clinking noise.  James slitted one eye open to see the slim Jedi leaning back against the control panel in front of him, container of honey in one hand and spoon in the other.  James was still not entirely sure that he approved of edible bug spit, but he had to admit… Q looked good eating it.  Apparently oblivious to how James was watching his mouth, Q finished sucking a dollop of honey off the spoon and went on, “I imagine M wouldn’t contact you unless someone had turned up the heat, though.”

Q was entirely right, so James let out a deep sigh and sat up a bit straighter.  A glance over his shoulder told him that Catchpenny was nowhere in sight, and the doors to both living quarters were closed.  “I detest imprisoning him,” Q said without prompting, following James’ look, “but I figured that it would wait until after we were off-planet to tell him that he’s allowed to leave that room.”

“Wise,” James grunted, before turning back to Q - just in time to see the Jedi pop another spoonful of honey into his mouth, pink lips sealing innocently around the spoon.  “M wanted to let me know that my little stunt with your lightsaber is already making waves.  Apparently I’m a Jedi now.”

Rolling his eyes, Q removed the spoon from his mouth, making an airy gesture with it even as he declared jadedly, “News travels fast and people are stupid.”

“Apparently.”

“So now what?”

“Not much has really changed,” James shrugged, “We’re both still wanted men, and it’s in our best interests to stay away from the First Order, so…”  

“So?”

James stood, putting him temporarily in Q’s personal space - although he used that nearness to pivot them both until he could push Q down into the pilot’s seat.  “So, just as soon as we can say our goodbyes to the Ceklin captain, you’re going to get a lot more practice at flying this old bird.”  

Unfortunately, James also suspected that he himself would get some practice in the gunner’s nest, too…

~^~

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

Time was of the essence, but despite how much Q realized that they needed to get a move on, saying goodbye to the Ceklin captain was still bittersweet.  He seemed the kind of being who would have made a good friend, but sadly James and Q couldn’t take the risk of letting him in on any of their secrets - although he had to suspect something, given the type of ship they were leaving behind with him.  First Order ships were fairly iconic.  However, if the Ceklin captain had any questions, he kept them behind his beak-like mandibles and simply stated how happy he was to have done business with Q and James and that they’d been good company as well.  Q even received another container of honey as a parting gift, as they made sure that the Nebelung ship was fully stocked and ready to go.  The stuff really did seem to be having a positive effect, as Q’s aches had subsided almost completely by the time they’d bid their last farewell and boarded Glaurung.  

“Think you can get her off the ground?” James teased, taking a seat in the copilot’s chair.  The bridge was clearly set up for one primary pilot with the copilot as an after-thought, but since Q wasn’t even from the same galaxy as the species who had designed this ship, he felt safer with someone there as back-up.  

“Of course I can - you already saw me fly it,” Q protested, rankled.  He leaned forward to sweep a hand across the panels, getting a little thrill as the ship immediately powered up beneath his touch.  “I may not be an expert yet, but I’m good enough that the Ceklin captain gave me a pass.”

Instead of arguing, James lounged back in his chair with a blithe, “Good, because I am honestly not looking forward to ever having to fly this thing.” He began absently strapping himself in as he talked, “Don’t get me wrong, I’ve been taking notes, and could probably take over if needed - but it wouldn’t be pretty.”

“Very little of your flying could be categorized as ‘pretty’,” Q opined as he, too, bucked himself in safely.  He seemed to do the task much more seriously than Bond, which was a bit worrisome - either the Stormtrooper had a lot more faith in Q’s flying skills than Q himself did, or the man’s genetic disposition towards trouble was rearing its head again.  

“Well, there is perhaps a reason that the First Order put me behind a gun instead of in the pilot’s seat most of the time,” James was willing to admit.  

Q snorted, unable to completely fight the urge to smirk at his companion’s incorrigible nature.  “Do they know that you can ruin ships with just a touch?”  He nodded significantly towards James’ prosthetic hand, which had done quite a good job of scrambling their last ship.  Q had been careful to explain to the Ceklin captain that there might be lingering computer issues, when they’d traded the Regial in.  

“Of course not.  Then they’d never let me fly at all,” James scoffed.

“You say that with such derision, and yet if I have to be in a ship that you’re piloting again, I might just develop a true phobia of flying rather than the mild anxiety I have now,” Q deadpanned.  

That earned him a bark of a laugh and a kick aimed at his calf.  “Fine then,” James muttered, but he sounded amused, “Do you want me to help you get this bird up and running, or should I just sit here and look pretty and troublesome while you do all the hard work, Captain?”

Q’s smile was getting harder and harder to control.  “Finally, a title I deserve.”  Another kick, but Q dodged his one, wriggling his leg out of reach.  “But yes, a bit of assistance in a pre-flight check would be appreciated.  That way we’ll be equally culpable if something gets neglected and we fall out of the sky.”

~^~

Flying a Nebelung ship was like nothing else, Q had decided from the first moment he’d sat in the pilot’s seat - and as much as he preferred to be the one flying, it was a hair-raising experience.  By the time he’d gotten the ship out of Rankatti’s atmosphere and on a steady course through space, he was pretty sure that he’d shaved years off his life.  

James, of course, was ecstatic.  

“Well hot damn,” the Stormtrooper said from the copilot’s seat, an unnatural brightness to his blue eyes and a grin splitting his face.  “I knew I’d like this ship.”

“You like this ship because we almost died.”

“Relax, Q, when it comes to dying, ‘almost’ doesn’t count - you’re either alive or you’re not.”

Q forced his shaking hands to check on the autopilot settings, not quite trusting that it would kick in, even now that they were moving through the relatively uncomplicated expanses of open space.  “You have no idea how not comforting that is.  No idea at all.”  

“I thought you did fantastically, Q.”  There was the sound of James blithely slipping out of the safety harness, and a moment later Q felt a reassuring hand clap his shoulder.  It would have made him feel better if he didn’t already know that the gesture came from a man who was genetically addicted to danger - so if James was this happy, that meant they probably really had come close to dying.  He said as much and Bond just laughed, although the next firm squeeze to Q’s shoulder felt a bit more sympathetic.  Bond’s voice softened a bit, too, as he added, “The Ceklin was right to trust you with this ship.  You’re good with it.”

“I was so busy fighting with the wings that I almost forgot that we needed the engines.  You had to push the throttle,” Q reminded in a bit of a strangled voice.  Now that the autopilot was well and truly engaged, and looked like it would keep them safe and stable at least until some new chaos erupted, Q sagged back in his seat like a puppet with its strings cut.  He thought a moment about wriggling away from Bond’s hand, which was still idly kneading the muscle of his right shoulder, but ultimately decided that it was too much effort… and felt rather nice, too.  

The hand paused a moment at Q’s last statement.  Q turned back to find the Stormtrooper looking at him strangely.  “What?”

“Q…” James said slowly, something intrigued spreading across his expression, “You did that.”

“No I didn’t - I had both of my hands on the thigmotropic controls.  And I’m not bloody flexible enough to go around adjusting throttles with my feet.”

“Q,” James repeated his name, a bit more firmly this time, and the hand not resting on Q’s shoulder came up to poke a finger against the younger man’s forehead.  While Q frowned at the finger, James finally elaborated, “You’re a Jedi, remember?  You don’t always need physical limbs.  At the same time you yelled at me to hit the throttle, the damn thing moved on its own.  I thought you did it on purpose.”

“I…”  James had stopped prodding his forehead, but Q continued just staring off into the middle distance, suddenly flustered.  He lifted a still-shaky hand to drag it back through his hair.  “I think my control of the Force is still a bit rattled.  Either the poison or the antidote seems to be making my abilities a bit… instinctive,” he gave the best reasoning he could for an event that he barely remembered doing.  He had just been focused very hard on what he wanted to get done.  

With one last encouraging squeeze and a firm pat, Bond let go of Q’s shoulder and backed off.  “To be fair, I’d have thought that it was just some gremlin in the systems, or some failsafe kicking in, except you always feel a bit more dangerous when you use the force,” Bond admitted, and Q twisted around again to get a look at him.  The Stormtrooper’s expression was calm and honest, some of the delighted mania from earlier fading.  Broad shoulders lifted and dropped in an easy shrug.  “So I actually felt it when you reached out with your Jedi tricks to give the throttle a good kick.”

Unsure how to take that (should he be flattered that a part-Shezarand was acknowledging that he was a bit dangerous as a Jedi?  Or offended that he was only showing up on James’ troubleseeker radar when he was actively moving things with the Force?  Or a bit worried that James could actually sense that kind of thing…?), Q just sat and blinked dumbly for a moment.  When he moved to turn around more, perhaps to face James squarely for a proper conversation about this matter, he belatedly realized that he was still strapped into the pilot’s seat.  “Bugger,” he muttered and started to fight with the buckles.  

 James snickered.  “Need a hand there?”

“From the man who finds near-death experiences invigorating?  No.  No thank you, I’ll take the time to untangle myself slowly and safely,” Q informed the Stormtrooper primly, and was rewarded by a low chuckle instead of an offended noise.  Still, Q was glad that he also then heard Bond padding off, because that meant no one was watching as the same Jedi that had flown a ship partially with his mind struggled with a simple set of straps.  

~^~

“Okay, what do we tell Catchpenny?  Because he’s going to see me do something Jedi-related sooner or later, and I don’t think his internal computers are glitchy enough for him to not recognize what a lightsaber is.”

Because of their abrupt departure from Rankatti, Q and James were still low on some supplies - nothing vital, thankfully, but as Q and James went over starcharts on a spare screen in Glaurung’s cozy mess hall, their primary focus was on finding a reasonably safe trading colony to land at.  Catchpenny in particular needed fixing with tools and supplies that Q simply did not have, which had led to other droid-related issues.  

Looking at the map with one arm folded across his middle and the other arm propped on it, hand absently rubbing his chin, James replied without turning, “I imagine there’s no way to swear him to secrecy?”

“Not mechanically or logarithmically, no,” Q said back with a frown, “Not without traumatizing him more than he already is.  The poor thing has undergone enough invasive re-coding already, and I won’t add to it.”

For a moment it looked like Bond might argue, but a glance over at Q’s face clearly showed the Stormtrooper that his companion’s moral center wasn’t budging on this one.  Bond ended up shrugging and offering an alternative, “In that case, I suppose we just tell him the truth and hope for the best.  I’d prefer something more elegant than that, but you have a point that he’s going to see something eventually.  All we can really hope for is to control when and how he learns it.”  James’ face shifted into a swift smirk, and he gave Q a sly look, “Of course, I’d be more worried about the whole situation if that little droid weren’t so enamored with you.  So as long as you ask him to keep secrets instead of me, this might all work out.”

“He’s not enamored with me.  I just fixed his arm,” Q tried to demure, even as he admitted to a warm little sunburst of pride expanding in his chest.  

James saw right through the deflection, retorting, “And in return, he stole an antidote from a master who’s had him for who-knows-how-long, followed us both right out of the city and into the middle of nowhere, and insisted on helping you even when I pointed a gun in his face.  Honestly, I think the only way he’d betray you would be if he glitched out and did it accidentally.”

“All the more reason for me to track down a decent tech-scanner so that I can get a look at his code,” Q said determinedly, stepping close to the map and flicking fingers on the screen, looking for planet names that he knew.  “This planet - Kalyk-5.  Eve and I were going to head there after Nik’ah’tenia.  Those plans went all to shit, obviously, but I know that there’s a lot of trade there and a diverse populace to keep us from standing out.”

Instead of commenting on the planet or even looking at the map, James had turned his strikingly pale blue eyes on Q.  “Eve?” the Stormtrooper echoed back. Bond was quick to put the dots together, “Your Jedi master that you were travelling with?”

Reflexively, Q snapped his mouth shut, but then remembered that he and James were definitely on the same side now - he could talk to him.  That reduced Q’s instinctive anxiety, and the muscles that had tensed in his jaw almost instantly relaxed again.  “Yes, Eve Moneypenny,” he said, feeling strangely shy as he went on, “She’s been mentoring me for a couple of years now, although the threat of the First Order means that we spent a lot of time running rather than training.”

James cracked a smile.  “Ah, so that’s your excuse for still being a novice at this Jedi business,” he teased, moving to lean a shoulder against the wall by the computer screen.  

Just to prove that he was not entirely a novice, Q reached out with the force for the closed drawer near James’ hip.  It took a split-second of concentration to yank it out, and the Stormtrooper yelped and jumped as it banged against him.  “A novice, am I?” he drawled back a bit meanly, showing his teeth in something that was more challenge than smile.

Of course, James’ addiction to danger being what it was, his response was to look from the offending drawer to Q with eyes alight and smile broad.  “All right, I’ll admit that sometimes you’re frighteningly competent,” the man allowed, and Q nodded, appeased by the new assessment.  Changing the topic and losing the too-eager smile a bit, James asked, “So do you think your mentor Eve will be there, at Kalyk-5?  You said that she took a trip off-world when the First Order closed in and attacked.”

It was on the tip of Q’s tongue to add “And when you knocked me unconscious and dislocated my arm,” but that grievance was already fading away, an old bruise that Q could touch with only the briefest of pain.  So instead he gave out a bit more pertinent information: “No.  She was actually chasing down a lead to some possible allies - the Spectre Society, I think they called themselves.  They’re not directly affiliated with the old Jedi order, so she was wary of them, and therefore left me behind in Nik’ah’tenia.”

“Sounds reasonable,” James nodded, clearly appreciating the strategy. Q felt absurdly pleased by that, as if it somehow mattered whether or not this blue-eyed man liked Q’s mentor.  

“However, since we didn’t exactly have a contingency plan in place for… all of this-” Q waved his hand about to generally indicate the current situation, which frankly defied words.  He’d been kidnapped and injured, and yet somehow found himself with a First Order ally and a Nebelung ship; he wasn’t sure whether he was moving up or down in the world.  He finished his thought with a pensive furrowing of his brow, “-The only hope of Eve and me meeting up again is probably Kalyk-5, since it was at least part of our travel plans.”

“It’s not a bad place to head towards,” James admitted.  He switched his attention from Q back to the starchart.  He traced their projected path with a finger.  “It’ll include a bit of backtracking, which I don’t think the First Order will expect, but it’s still far enough away from their usual territory that we won’t be dodging patrols constantly.”  At this, Q nodded, realizing how nice it was to have a companion who knew their enemies so intimately.  “It’s not a planet that I know personally, but if you say we can get supplies there while also blending in, then I’m game.”

Trying not to smile too broadly at the Stormtrooper’s approval, Q nonetheless rocked forward and back on his feet once or twice in silent happiness.  

Of course, that still left them with the first issue: talking to Catchpenny.

~^~

“Catchpenny.”  Q knelt in front of where the little droid was sitting crosslegged on the floor of the same room Bond had originally ensconced him in.  Very little had changed, except Q had managed to rig up a good charging port for him, and now Catchpenny had a long wire extending from the back of his neck to an opened panel on the wall.  It wasn’t ideal, but still, the android looked happy - of course, the crooked smile on his half-ruined face might have just been because Q was there.  “Catchpenny, I have something very important to talk to you about.”

In typical glitchy fashion, Catchpenny cocked his head and started an entirely different line of conversation, “How are you symptoms, Master Q?  Have you been taking the medicinal substance as perscribed?”  

When Q had proposed revealing his Jedi nature to Catchpenny, James had insisted on being present, and was leaning against the doorway much as he had the last time the three of them had interacted.  Now he sighed heavily, but at least refrained from commenting.  

Glad that patience was something heavily taught amongst the Jedi, Q just took in a fortifying breath and returned the droid’s friendly smile, looking into sun-bleached eyes.  “I’m still a bit achy, but the honey is doing a lot of good.”

“The symptoms will take a few more days to abate - as the poison metabolizes slowly, even with assistance,” Catchpenny clarified, his expression flickering between confidence and sadness.  It was like his programming was trying to follow two logic-paths simultaneously: pity that Q was still in some pain, but acceptance over a treatment that was going as expected.  “The achiness is normal,” he finally finished with a nod.  His voice continued to come out with a double harmonic quality, but at least there was no longer any grinding noise when he moved; now, from the doorway, James made a small grunt of approval as he noticed this.  Q had done good work with the limited tools that he had.

“Um… well, that’s actually related to what I wanted to talk about,” Q tried to bring the conversation back around without losing the droid entirely, “My symptoms, that is.  I have another one, and it’s important.”

Catchpenny immediately sat up straighter, eyelids lowering in rapid blinks and smile falling away.  “I am not equipped with the protocols of a full medical droid.  However, I have many basic diagnostics in my repertoire, and am capable of basic treatment,” Catchpenny said with just a bit of desperation in his voice, and it was clear that he feared an end to his usefulness.  There was a hum as his servos began to work overtime; soon his fans would have to kick in, as it sounded like he was quickly on his way to overheating his internal components.

Q immediately reached forward, grasping both of the droid’s hands in a soothing grip.  He didn’t flinch away from the damaged hand, which remained unsettling to look at with its bare struts and melted wires.  “It’s okay, Catchpenny,” he reassured quickly, “You’ve been a great nurse, and I still need you.”  When that immediately settled the android down, something clicking in his chest as it slowed, Q went from kneeling to sitting.  They looked like quite a pair, really, James reflected: sitting in the same posture, both with slight builds, and even though Q was the larger of the two, he didn’t dwarf Catchpenny as James did.  Q rubbed a soothing thumb over the droid’s knuckles as if he were an anxious human, even though Catchpenny likely couldn't feel a thing from his right hand.  When Q leaned forward, Catchpenny mirrored the motion, probably responding to some old behavioral protocols that encouraged him to sympathize with patients through body language cues.  “Catchpenny, have you ever heard of the Jedi Order?”

That threw the droid for a loop, and James winced as he all but saw the droid logic algorithms derail for a moment.  What followed was a long moment of awkward silence as Catchpenny blinked rapidly and his face went blank of all expression.  Q just waited it out, though, not moving or showing any impatience - and he was rewarded almost a full, long minute later by the droid’s head suddenly twitching to the side.  That seemed to reset something, and when Catchpenny’s eyes came back to Q, it was with a smiling expression.  “Of course.  I have heard many things about the Jedi.”

“Good things or bad things?” Q pressed.  That was the question James wanted an answer to, but he probably wouldn't have asked it as lightly as Q was asking it now, tone gentle and almost blithe.  From his tone and expression, it would have been impossible to tell what an important topic this was.

Catchpenny’s head cocked to one side.  “People say many things about them.  Good and bad,” he hedged.  James sighed a little as he realized what was happening: Catchpenny was trying to please Q more than he was trying to answer.  This was both very sad, and potentially a good thing, because hopefully it meant that Catchpenny would side with whatever Q said.  

Perhaps realizing this as well, Q went on with a more leading question, “You don’t hate the Jedi Order, do you?”  

By the way Catchpenny’s expression smoothed out, he was relieved to have been given a question with what felt like an obvious right answer.  “I do not believe so,” he said almost proudly.  When Q’s smile broadened, the droid looked transparently pleased and relieved.  

“Would you be upset if James or I was a Jedi?”

“Of course not - you are my patient,” Catchpenny was quick to assert, voice firm.  While Q looked back to exchange a relieved look with James, the droid went on in a more dubious tone, “007’s title also sounds like a First Order Stormtrooper designation, and I do not believe they allow Jedis.”  That got both Q and James to snap surprised looks Catchpenny’s way, having not expected the suddenly astute deduction - there were moments like these where it was very hard to ascertain just how addled the little droid actually was.  Ignoring the looks, Catchpenny was staring off into the middle distance, double-harmonic getting worse as he mused in a light undertone, “Is 007 a Jedi?”

“No, Catchpenny,” Q shifted his grip to the droid’s wrists to regain his attention.  Sun-bleached eyes dilated and constricted as they came into focus again.  James tensed subtly, focusing on his troubleseeker sense as a precaution, as he watched Q’s chest expand - drawing in a slow, deep breath to let the truth out.  “I’m a Jedi.”

For a long moment, the only response was stillness and silence, as Catchpenny’s beleaguered coding struggled to cope with an unexpected influx of data again.  Fortunately, James wasn’t sensing any more danger than before, and while his abilities were far from an exact science, he did trust them.  Therefore, James had already relaxed to slouch again the doorway by the time Catchpenny responded.  It was a bit worrisome, however, when the droid frowned very seriously.  Fortunately, all he said in response to Q’s reveal was, “You said that this was related to your symptoms?  If I am to be successful in tending to your health, you must explain your symptoms.”  Catchpenny sat back and bit and added with a firm nod, “Even if you are a Jedi.”

James hid a snort of amusement, and he didn’t need Jedi mindreading powers to understand the ‘Thank fuck’ telegraphed by Q’s suddenly sagging posture.  The ex-Stormtrooper left the room to check on their course, leaving Q to explain how the recent poisoning had made his grasp of the Force a bit unpredictable.

~^~

Glaurung flew pretty dependably on autopilot, once a course was set in.  Both Q and James checked on it regularly just to be safe, but it would probably have been more accurate to say that the two of them congregated in the bridge so that Q could give James additional lessons in how the ship worked.  “I thought you said that you preferred being the pilot,” the blond-haired man groused on the third occasion that Q started coaxing him onto the ship’s bridge.

A sharp nudge from behind propelled James through the doorway - Q was still two paces back, so apparently he’d regained his use of the Force enough to telekinetically shove at stubborn Stormtroopers.  Q also had the jar of honey in his hand, and finished licking at a spoonful of the stuff before following James in and replying, “I do - I get airsick less often when I’m at the controls - but the fact remains that I’d feel safer if you could at least handle the ship if I were ever incapacitated.”

James grumbled something about M having him ejected out an airlock if he let Q get incapacitated, but nonetheless strolled forward and sort of slung himself into the pilot’s seat.  Q caught himself staring at the man, momentarily entranced just by the way he moved.  And maybe by his arse.  Giving his head a hard shake and making a mental note to clear his mind with some meditation later, Q scampered up and settled into the copilot’s seat to begin explaining more tricks and tips that he’d already gotten figured out.  Some of the things the Cecklin captain had taught him - but admittedly, Q had learned even more just from flying the ship himself.  Sometimes a trial by fire lent itself to a steeper learning curve.  

All the while James wore a bored expression, and Q started to get frustrated by how little the Stormtrooper was speaking and engaging.  Since getting mad at the man just seemed to make him grin, however (damn that Shezarand heritage), Q tried another tactic to see if what he was saying was really getting through.

Bond stiffened and he jerked his head back, eyes swivelling to pin on Q a moment later like the sights on a sniper-rifle lining up on a target.  Frowning now while Q sat back and flushed red, James asked slowly, “Were you just in my head?”

Acutely embarrassed now and belatedly realizing that he perhaps shouldn’t have done that, Q sank back in the copilot’s seat and ran nervous fingers back through his hair.  Unable to look at James, he murmured towards the ship’s control panels, “Only a tiny bit.  I just wanted to see if you were paying attention.”  For a moment, James’ eyes simply narrowed further and he said nothing.  Getting a bit desperate as it sank in that he’d probably crossed quite a personal boundary (Q was used to having just Eve for company, and they were in each other’s head quite often, or else they blocked off what they didn’t want to share), Q tangled his fingers together and added before the Stormtrooper found a response, “I’m really not very good at mindreading!  So this is the first and only time I’ve really done it to you - and I'm clumsy enough that you’ll always notice… as you obviously did right now.”  Unsure whether or not he was just digging himself a bigger hole, Q slouched a bit more, and finally dared to look over and read Bond’s expression.  

The man looked more thoughtful and wary than actively angry.  

 Q let his breath out in a puff of relief.  “Sorry.  I should have asked.”

“Yes, you should have,” Bond replied.  There was a roughness in his voice that bespoke a bit of temper, but it didn’t sound like he wanted to shoot Q, at least.  In fact, as Q’s anxiety died down, he found himself thinking ridiculously about how he rather like that low, gravel-edged tone.  

Q popped another spoonful of honey in his mouth to keep from saying something stupid.  He watched as Bond’s eyes snapped to the movement, and the Stormtrooper seemed to relax a bit more.  In fact, a moment later, James sighed and then asked, “I take it you’re out of my thoughts now?”

The Jedi nodded, lips still wrapped around the spoon, sweetness spreading across his tongue and down his throat.  

Bond’s eyes were very blue, and he seemed to be focusing more on Q’s mouth than anything else as he went on, “And you said mindreading isn’t something you’re good at?”

Q removed the spoon just enough to talk around it, finding some absurd comfort in having it still pressed against his lower teeth and lip, where his tongue could touch at it between words.  “I’m even worse at mindreading than I am at sparring.”

James finally cracked a smile.  “Well then, that’s encouraging, at least.  So you can’t tell what I’m thinking now?”

“No,” Q was quick to reassure, but then he noticed that James’ eyes were holding something like amusement.  It made him suddenly and deeply suspicious, so he asked back slowly, “Why?”

“Nothing.  It’s just probably for the best, right at this moment,” James said, and now he had a small smile curling mischievously at the corner of his mouth.  While Q finally removed the spoon from his mouth entirely, flummoxed by this, James reached forward and deftly plucked it out of his hand.  There was still some honey on it, and Q found himself oddly fascinated and disgusted by turns as James popped it into his own mouth without an ounce of hesitation.  Before Q could say anything about how his spit was definitely on that spoon, James hummed, “Hm, this isn’t half bad for bug vomit” and then turned back to the control panels.  Words only a bit garbled by his purloined spoon of honey, James said in a more imperious tone, “All right then, let the lessons continue.  If you didn’t already pluck this answer from my head - yes, I am listening.  I’m just very well trained at looking very bored.”

Feeling like he’d missed something important… but possibly dangerous… Q stared at the side of James’ head for a long moment.  He was suddenly very, very tempted to try and read 007’s mind again.  When blue eyes rolled his way, though, and Bond’s smile grew as if he was the one who knew what Q was thinking, the Jedi made a point of huffing and then returning to the task of teaching a stubborn Stormtrooper how to fly a very complex Nebelung ship.  James spoke up a bit more now - but he did not return Q’s spoon. 

Chapter Text

Considering where this whole venture had begun - Q injured and then kidnapped by a Stormtrooper, whisked away to a strange planet, and a severely damaged android added to their posse - Q was honestly pleasantly surprised by how things had ended up.  He was willing to say that this whole situation was a success even, because they appeared to be staying ahead of the First Order, and they not only had supplies and a ship, but a rather decent amount of trust betwixt them.  True, James Bond was insufferable sometimes and reckless all the time, but Q figured that he could balance that out with his Jedi logic and order.  If at least one of them was sensible, hopefully they wouldn’t end up travelling through another solar storm… which was another reason for Q to be the pilot.  Glaurung was a fantastic and noble ship, and Q was more than a bit protective of her already - and he’d seen what James had done to their last ship!  Q also had workaholic tendencies, so as soon as he found himself another spoon so that he could continue to self-medicate his aches with honey, Q spent the next six hours either managing the helm or acquainting himself with every mechanical and electrical component that he could find.     

This was perhaps the reason that it took Q so long to realize one very important and awkward fact: Glaurung currently had three occupants... but only two rooms.  With two beds.  And Q had given up his room to a sexually abused medical droid.  

At about the two-hour mark, Bond popped in long enough to warn/inform Q that he was going to let Catchpenny out.  Q, who had a panel removed in the engine room, said that it was about time they did that - and to please be polite and gentle with the droid.  James had promised he would and then disappeared. 

At about the three and a half hour mark, Catchpenny himself had appeared at Qs elbow.  At this point, Q was still in the engine room, but now marvelling at an entirely different system - apparently Nebelung ships could be set up to run off solar energy.  It was truly fascinating, and something that Q would have to look into equipping when they next landed for supplies.  “007 told me to stay away from the cockpit,” the droid said, apropos of nothing, his warbling voice giving no indication that he found this an odd start to a conversation.  After a pause that was almost but not quite long enough to garner a response, he went on, “This ship’s medbay is very small but I like it.”  And then, despite apparently liking the medbay, Catchpenny proceeded to follow Q around for the next fifteen minutes.  They talked a bit, although Q was still pretty distracted by his investigations into Nebelung solar-energy tech and Catchpenny’s ability to carry out a conversation was as glitchy as before.  

At about the four-hour mark, James’ voice came seemingly out of nowhere, gently coaxing Catchpenny to organize the medbay.  When Q looked over, the ex-Stormtrooper was leaning easily against the doorframe as if he’d been standing there a while, and his expression looked amused.  Catchpenny pointedly looked between Bond and Q, asked Q one time, very formally, if his symptoms were under control (they were), and only then did the droid unfold himself from where he’d been sitting at Q’s feet watching him work.  When the android skittered off (presumably to the medbay, unless his logicboard glitched and sent him somewhere else), James didn’t follow him, instead watching Q with that curious smile growing more obvious on his face.

“What?” Q asked.  One arm behind a mass of wiring, he reached back with the other hand and called a wrench to him with the Force.  It hit his palm with a solid slap, and Q immediately began loosening off a screw so that he could investigate further.  

“Nothing,” James said after a beat in which his eyes danced in a way that indicated it was most certainly not nothing.  He pushed away from the doorway, “Just came to say that I’m going to catch a few winks.  Don’t let the autopilot carry us into an asteroid before I wake up.”

“The autopilot has a better track record than you when it comes to safe flight paths,” Q reminded, but the blue-eyed man just smirked as if given a compliment and then padded silently away.  

It wasn’t until about the six-hour mark, as Q walked past the sleeping quarters for the third time (he’d been splitting his attention between the pilot’s seat and the engine room), that a niggling thought crossed his mind.  It was just… an inkling.  Like he’d forgotten something.  Telling himself that he’d meditate later to settle his mind, and that then he’d surely remember it if it were important, he started walking again only to nearly bump into Catchpenny.  

Sun-bleached eyes blinked up at him guilelessly.  “I’m going to recharge.  Is there anything that you require?”

“No, no, I’m fine!” Q was quick to assure, although the aches in his joints had been flaring up a bit.  It wasn’t anything he couldn’t manage, though.  “You go recharge.”  Q made a note to do a more thorough check of Catchpenny’s circuitry at the next opportunity - some of his components were old, and it wouldn’t be surprising if he was haemorrhaging energy.

The droid didn’t move immediately.  Instead, he tilted his head and then asked, “Is it safe to recharge on the bed?”  Just as Q started to frown and open his mouth to reply, the droid went on as if he’d already logged a reply, “007 promised that while I am on that bed, no one else is allowed to be.”  Again before Q could respond to that, Catchpenny went on, perhaps a bit more fervently than before - as if afraid that his words would be usurped if he let someone else talk, “007 also promised that while I am in the employ of this ship and its captain - you - I am only a bedside-nurse droid.”  The android’s servos were starting to click as his fans picked up speed alarmingly, a sure sign of overheating.

A bit overwhelmed because he hadn’t been expecting to have this talk (although pleasantly surprised that Bond had apparently designated Q as the captain), Q let out all of his breath in a rush and this time made sure that he was able to answer before Catchpenny worked himself up further, “Of course, Catchpenny!”  Moving slowly so that the android could avoid it, Q reached out and carefully took Catchpenny’s hands, the ruined one feeling cold and spindly like it was made of old bones, “Everything double-oh-sev-  I mean, James - said is true.”  Catchpenny was still staring at him unblinkingly, his body and expression so unmoving that Q was half-afraid that his circuit-board had frozen.  The boffin rubbed his thumbs across the back of the droid’s hands and went on as reassuringly as possible, “That room - this whole ship - is a safe place for you.  No one will hurt you here, and certainly no one will force you to…”  Q wet his lips and finished as delicately as possible, “-Share a bed with them.”

There was a worrisome pause in which Catchpenny’s stiff expression did not change - but then his fans kicked down a notch.  When their humming dimmed to a more normal pace, a smile suddenly, finally spread across the droid’s wrecked face.  “Thank you for fixing my arm back in Scasla,” was his only answer, “Even though Master ruined it.”  As was typical of Catchpenny, he seemed to find that a perfectly suitable end to the conversation, and with his smile firmly in place, he waited until Q let go of his hands and then strode without hesitation into the second bedroom.

At which point that niggling thought in the back of Q’s mind solidified, and he realized that there were not enough beds for everyone, and if sharing was going to happen, it was most certainly not going to happen with Catchpenny.  

Q more or less retreated to the bridge like his arse was on fire, and took them off autopilot just so that he could focus his mind on something other than their potentially problematic sleeping arrangements.  The only problem was that no matter how much Q focused on flying, his Force-senses kept reaching out and telling him that there was a very alive, very frustrating… and very good looking... ex-Stormtrooper sleeping in the only other available bed.

~^~

“Damn, Q, don’t you Jedi sleep?” James asked some time later, striding to where Q was hunched over the ship’s controls.  He was trying out some of the more difficult flight settings - not because he had to, but because he was still trying to keep his brain distracted.  That task became monumentally harder when James (dressed now in rugged-looking grey trousers and a form-fitting black pullover) sauntered up and dropped into an elegant sprawl in the copilot’s seat.  Before he could stop himself, Q glanced over at him, instantly finding that Bond’s sleep-roughened voice was matched by his sleep-tousled hair - both were overly inviting.  The blue-eyed man had clearly just gotten up… from the one bed that wasn’t already the property of Catchpenny.  “Don’t tell me - this is one of those Force things, isn’t it?  Do you lot live off cosmic energy or something?”

“Don’t be dramatic,” Q huffed, quickly turning his eyes forward to look at the stars rushing past them.  Their route was superimposed over it, and he pressed a hand down harder into the thigmotropic control pad; it folded over his fingers like fine, dense sand, hugging his skin warmly as the ship responded with a slight turn.  To Q’s right, Bond shifted his weight and it took physical effort not to look over at him again.  Good gods, why was this such a problem now?  Q had been around the man for days now without any particular issues - and yet suddenly it was like sensing the Force for the first time, and everything about James was just… very loud and very there.  “Some of us just like being useful and busy,” he finished lamely.  He tried for an arch tone but didn’t think he managed it.  James had laced his fingers over his stomach, and somehow that just made it harder and harder not to eye the man.  It wasn’t like Q had never noticed that Bond was fit before - he’d seen the man shirtless already, dammit, and had felt his strength more than once.  Somehow the issue of the beds, however, had shifted everything into a new perspective.  Suddenly Q couldn’t think about Bond’s without also thinking about the possibility of having to share the bed-

The ship veered and Q shook himself roughly back to the present, regaining control and swiftly righting their path.  Bond swore a little and had initially reached for the copilot’s safety harness, but relaxed once their flight settled out.  Sadly, even the little moment of panic hadn’t managed to clear Q’s head - he still glanced over at James and all he could think was, ‘There’s no way we can both share that bed without me doing something embarrassing.’  The bed was far too small for two bodies to occupy it without touching in some way.  

Q didn’t think that any of this was showing on his face, but perhaps some of it was, because now James was eyeing him oddly.  “You all right there, Q?” he asked, dropping the previous subject and tone in favour of what sounded distressingly like sincere worry.  

“I’m fine,” Q croaked out, staring stubbornly at the viewscreen like it would supply some sort of answer - like maybe an asteroid field that would distract him with some difficult flying and distract Bond because the maniac seemed to get high off danger.  Maybe if Q let James hold his lightsaber, he’d be too delightedly distracted to notice that he was sharing a bed…?  No sooner had Q thought that than his traitor brain supplied an innuendo-laden version of James holding Q’s lightsaber, and Q nearly lost control of the ship again.  “I think I just need to find something to eat - maybe more of that honey,” he quickly made the excuse.  He hurried to shift flight controls back to autopilot.

All the while, James was watching him with narrowed eyes.  All he ended up asking was, “Still feeling that poison?  You do look a bit tense around the shoulders.”

“Exactly,” Q agreed, grateful for the added support to his lie… which, now that he thought about it, wasn’t entirely a lie.  He hadn’t had any honey or painkillers in ages, and all up and down his spine was feeling tense.  “I might go see if Catchpenny wants to check me over again or something.  That would be good for his original programming.”

James made a noise of agreement, then smoothly got up when Q did.  For a second, Q’s heart did something funny in his ribcage, as the two of them stood nearly chest to chest - but only for a second, and then Bond was just pivoting past Q to take over the main pilot’s seat.  He slouched in it as indolently as he’d sat in the copilot’s chair.  “He does seem a lot less glitchy when he’s talking about medical things - or just you,” James observed.  He swivelled the chair so that his back was to the viewscreen, clearly trusting that Q had the ship on a safe path that didn’t need babysitting.  Pale blue eyes watched Q with lazy interest.  “It took a bit to convince him that he didn’t have to stay in that room perpetually, although now I wonder if we’ll be able to get him out of that cramped little medbay.”

That did manage to redirect Q’s thoughts, as his mind went back to meeting Catchpenny around the ship - specifically, when the battered droid was heading back to his quarters.  Recalling what Catchpenny had said, Q paused on his swift retreat from the room, turning to reply, “I appreciate that you convinced him like you did.”

James waved a hand, and either purposefully or accidentally, missed the full breadth of Q’s appreciation.  Dismissively, he said, “It was nothing.  I imagine he’d have gotten sick of being cooped up before long anyway.”

“Yes, but you not only told him he could explore,” Q clarified more boldly now, even as he heard his own tone softening and warming, “but that he was safe.”  James’ eyes jumped to Q’s and then away suddenly, and it was clear that he didn’t know what to do about being caught out, so Q pressed his advantage and added with a small smile, “I talked to him outside of the second sleeping quarters, and he told me quite clearly what you’d told him.  You’re quite soft, you know, for a Stormtrooper.”

“Ex-Stormtrooper,” James corrected, but his tone was wry instead of offended, and he’d lifted a hand to rub at the back of his neck as he continued to avoid Q’s eyes.  Now he was watching the stars zip by.  “And as I’ve said before, I wasn’t exactly a very good one of those to begin with.”

“I recall,” Q reflected the dry tone back, leaning now on the doorframe, “Good Stormtroopers don’t have names, you said.”

Blue eyes danced back to him.  A mischievous smile lit up the man’s face.  “Precisely,” he concurred with smugness.  

Q gave a snort, shaking his head in mock disbelief at his companion’s antics, and belatedly left the cockpit - although no longer in a panicked rush.  

~^~

By the time Q started eating that honey substance again, his joints were well and truly aching.  Catchpenny found the young Jedi in the medbay, trying to find a suitable painkiller to help with the process, and proceeded to tut over him in an endearingly motherly fashion - in fact, the droid seemed almost heartbroken that Q had been seeking medical help without him.  Thoroughly chastised and never wanting to make Catchpenny feel undervalued as a nurse droid, Q sat still for a good hour and let the droid run seemingly every check known to humanoids on him.  He noticed that by the end of the little session, Catchpenny actually seemed nearly as lucid as any well-maintained droid, which supported Bond’s theory that Catchpenny’s glitches happened less often when he was allowed to fall back on his original programming.  Q hoped at their next stop to be able to get more testing equipment himself, so that he could get a full look at Catcphenny’s systems.

Once Q had been given a ‘clean enough’ bill of health (he was as good as he could be under the circumstances, his pain managed and fading if not gone), he realized, ‘I could go sleep now - James is surely still awake.’  Filled with new purpose, Q quickly thanked Catchpenny for his help and then made his way to the sleeping quarters.  He paused outside the door, reaching out naturally with the Force… and delightedly sensing nothing living within the room.  Perfect. Almost sagging in relief that at least one potential embarrassment had been avoided, Q toed his boots off and wasted no time in snuggling under the covers.  He pointedly ignored the fact that they were a little bit mussed, lingering proof that someone else had slept there - someone else who was apparently already forgetting all of his Stormtrooper training about keeping his quarters spick and span.  The bed wasn’t exactly comfortable, but Q had slept on just about every surface imaginable during his nomadic travels with Eve.  Anything was better than sleeping on the ground, in his books.

Except there was one problem: the bed smelled like James.

It wasn’t any sort of alarming or offensive smell by any means - if anything, a part of Q’s mind admitted that it was actually kind of a good smell, and rather clean.  Unfortunately, the moment Q listened to the part of his brain that said James’ scent on the pillow was good, he had to admit that he liked the way the Stormtrooper smelled, and that had Q jerking upright in bed like he’d had cold water thrown on him.  Cheeks already hot with embarrassment, Q didn’t even realize how scattered he was until his own boots slid haphazardly across the floor, buffered by a wave of erratic Force.  “Keep it together, Q,” the Jedi muttered to himself under his breath, pressing his hands against his hot cheeks for a moment before reaching out to find his glasses again.  His boots he grabbed next, slipping them on regretfully.

He apparently wasn’t going to get a nap anytime soon.

~^~

Q decided to attempt meditating.  Considering the past few days he’d had with minimal time to do anything of the sort, he was probably overdue for centring his mind a bit - maybe that was why he was suddenly so preoccupied with his Stormtrooper companion.  Determined to fix the issue and return to his usual level of unaffected calm, Q found himself a nice little spot in the kitchen.  There wasn’t much by way of furniture beyond the basic necessities in a ship of this size, but Q was used to meditating on bare ground in the middle of nowhere, so he simply sat himself against the wall, folded his legs and settled his hands upon his knees, and closed his eyes.  

Meditation had initially been rather difficult for Q - his mind was always cluttered with ideas and projects, and when he’d been building his lightsaber it had been the worst.  He’d reach bodily stillness quite easily, but then his mind would kick into overdrive, thinking about design specs and kyber crystal dimensions, and before long Eve would be batting him upside the head and informing him that, “You’re thinking so loudly that I can hear you.”  Once Q had gotten a handle on organizing his hectic thoughts so that he could step away from them from time to time, he’d finally started making progress, at which point Eve and Q had discovered something else: Q was incredibly good at seeking out other beings through the Force.  Just about anyone that he knew, even in passing, he could find almost instinctively, once his mind was quiet and his thoughts were centred. Distance barely hindered him, although Q’s particular skill was a double-edged sword - the few times that he sought out people who were far away from him, his own mind very nearly went adrift.  

“Don’t go seeking out anyone with the Force unless I’m there, okay?” Eve had said, after a particularly terrifying training session in which Q had gotten so lost that it was a miracle that he’d gotten back into his body again.  His thoughts had stretched out too far, too fast.  He’d opened his eyes to find Eve kneeling right in front of him, her grip on his shoulders actually painful and her expression as close to distraught as he’d ever seen it.  Her words had brooked no argument: “You might find who you’re looking for, but without an anchor, you might never find your way back.”

Properly scared out of his mind, Q had refused to try the trick for weeks after that.  Thankfully, that had been over a year ago, and while the dangers still existed (he was still entirely too good at astral projecting out of his body), he’d come to understand the dangers and gains just like any other risky task.  It was like a lightsaber: an incredible tool, but you could still cut your own arm off if you didn’t use it wisely.  

Now, as Q breathed slowly in and out, he considered the pros and cons of seeking out Eve through the Force.  She was no doubt lightyears away, but not necessarily out of Q’s reach.  He’d astral projected many times since that nearly disastrous memory, and sometimes without Eve, if he knew that his target was nearby.  This would be the furthest afield he’d ever sought out someone without his Jedi master to anchor him.  If Q could find another anchor, though, then he could perhaps give this a try - if he succeeded, that could mean locating Eve and perhaps even communicating with her, as Q’s thoughts were often strong enough to speak to another mind once he found it.  

Determined to at least try - carefully - Q decided to put Bond’s distracting nature to good use.  Even now, Q could hardly ignore the man, so why not use that as a beacon?  

Q had already done this on a smaller scale back on Scasla, when he’d kept track of James in the crowd purely by sensing him through the Force.  Therefore it was basically muscle memory for Q to find him now.  James was like a bright light in a dark place, flaring and lively and still in the cockpit.  For no particular reason, Q found himself sighing out a breath and relaxing, as if he’d somehow been worried and needed to be reassured that Bond was still there and safe.  Mindful of how he’d ended up intruding on the man’s thoughts last time, Q was careful not to draw to close to the Stormtrooper's mind, but instead just took a moment to focus on it.  James truly did have the makings for a great beacon, even if he wasn’t consciously working to anchor Q like Eve had been.  But even a passive connection to this location was better than nothing, so Q began testing his reach.  It felt like… hearing the crackle of a fire and feeling it at his back even as he stepped out further and further into the night.  So long as he could still pinpoint the fire, he could return to its warmth.  Surprisingly, being on a ship in the middle of nowhere helped.  Usually, Q and Eve practised when they were planetside, and Q hadn’t realized how distracting it could be to have a living planet all around.  Now, however, there was only Bond and Q, and the peculiar ripple that android sentience made in the Force - not quite living, but definitely not dead.  

Starting tentatively at first, aware that there wasn’t another Jedi on board or even someone watching him to realize that something was wrong, Q began stretching out his senses.  The Force was never absent nor silent, in Q’s experience, but out here it was like a gentle pond with no wind.  Peaceful, really.  Q actually felt himself slipping deeper into meditation, the quiet making it easier to do so.  Also helping out the process was Bond, a brilliant fire that felt impossible to lose track off.  Of course Bond’s Force signature would be as obnoxious and unavoidable as the man himself…

Q still wasn’t sure that he’d be able to safely reach out far enough to find Eve, but he was having fun practising.  And that’s all it was - practice - until suddenly Q sensed a hard rippled in the Force and ran into unexpected life-forms like tripping over a rake.  “Fuck!” he gasped aloud, and for a moment it was like his own words were reaching him from far, far away.  Nearly panicking, Q sought out that burning, the light - James! - but he’d gotten turned around, and there were no directions where he was.  No rules.  No dimensions.  No compass pointing north.  Q may as well have been jettisoned into the middle of space itself, galaxies stretching out in all directions - equally at his fingertips yet equally out of reach.

“Q.”  Bond’s voice was over the intercom, so sudden and jarring that it somehow snapped Q back into focus.  He was looking for Bond.  He knew what that fire, what that star amidst the black, looked like.  As James’ voice continued to crackle through the intercom, Q came back to himself, shaking and gasping with shock and fear.  “Q, I think we’ve got a problem.  You’d better get up here.”

Pretty sure that the ‘problem’ was related to the life-forces that he’d sensed, Q didn’t move towards the intercom to respond because he didn’t have his breath back.  Damn, had he stopped breathing?  He just barely managed to stagger to his feet, but aimed his faltering feet towards the door, because if there was trouble, he wasn’t going to face it sitting on his arse.  Hopefully by the time he reached the cockpit, he wouldn’t look like he’d just disconnected from his body and barely managed to claw his way back into it.  

‘No more astral-projecting without properly setting up an anchor,’ he told himself firmly.

~^~

“Did you hear me?” James asked, when Q appeared at the doorway to the cockpit.  “I tried to reach you on the intercom-”

“I heard,” Q was quick to interject.  His body still felt wobbly, and he knew that when he left the doorway to step into the room, he didn’t do it with much grace.  He also knew that James noticed, because blue eyes narrowed and the Stormtrooper frowned.  Not wanting to answer questions now, Q did his best to steady himself and gave his throat a clear, words coming out more confidently, “You said there was trouble?  Does it have to do with you detecting life-forms nearby, by chance?”

Now the wary expression transformed into one of surprise, blond brows winging upwards.  “Yes, it does, in fact,” the Stormtrooper admitted, and then neatly vacated his seat (movements so smooth that Q got instantly jealous) so that Q could sit in the pilot’s seat while James settled into the copilot chair.  As he moved, the blue-eyed man asked with clear curiosity, “Care to clue me in as to how you know that?”

Q sat but kept his hands to himself as James reached out to hit a few buttons, changing the screen’s view as they talked.  “I was meditating,” Q admitted, not sure how much to give away and how much James would understand.  He settled on, “I sensed something right around the same time you hailed me on the intercom.”  Thankfully, James didn’t ask why Q hadn’t then answered on the intercom.  Then again, it was a small ship, so perhaps he thought that Q just hadn’t felt the need to waste time with an intercom discussion.  “So did you pick something up on the sensors?”

“Not precisely,” James hedged, but did indeed bring something up on the screen.  Q had to squint at it, and then cocked his head, bewildered.

“I’m not sure what you’re seeing there.”  Truth be told, it looked like nothing but a smudge.  When Q reached out to take over the sensor controls, he wasn’t able to clear up the situation or the image much - it was already zoomed in as much as possible, and at the very limit of Glaurung’s long-range sensors.

“It’s a ship,” James nonetheless maintained firmly.  When Q shot him a look, Bond elaborated with a bit of a grimace, “Or at least I’m assuming it is.”

“Based on what evidence?  It could just be a piece of moving debris, based on what little we can see from here.”  For the moment, Q refused to bring up his own evidence - while his sense of directionality had been momentarily scrambled when he’d tried to get back to his body, he nonetheless could say that he’d sensed living things in that direction.

But what Bond had noticed was apparently subtly different: “I wouldn’t be sensing so much trouble from a mere hunk of flying rock.”

Understanding cleared Q’s confused expression, and instead he put his hands to his temples as if to rub away an incoming migraine.  “Good gods, this is your troubleseeker-sense, isn’t it?”

Bond went from looking a bit hesitant to looking smug in a heartbeat.  “Yup.”

“And it’s telling you that that… is a ship?”

“Not precisely, but it’s telling me that it’s trouble - and not much is a danger to us right now except another ship.”  Bond tipped his head back, considering, and then added, “Or perhaps another solar-storm, but that kind of trouble feels different.”

Moving his hands to rub his fingertips against his closed eyes until he saw spots against the inside of his lids, Q sagged for a moment before dropping his hands and declared, “Well shit.  If I’m sensing life-forms and you’re sensing trouble, that means things are about to get interesting, aren’t they?”

James’ grin was a slow-growing thing, but incredibly unsettling.  It lit up the man’s eyes like merrily wicked flames.  “Probably.  But I’ll resist the urge to fly us right towards them, for your sake.”

“Thanks ever so much,” Q retorted with heavy sarcasm, then tried once again to get more information via the sensors.  “It is getting closer,” he discovered.

Both men sobered.  

Still a bit rattled from his meditation misadventures, Q glanced over at James and asked quietly, “So what do you want to do about it?  Besides making a beeline for them, of course.”  

“I actually might have another idea,” James said, quickly leaning forward again to bring something else up on the screen.  He explained as he moved, as efficient as a wave washing a beach clean, “I picked this up on our sensors, too - much closer.”

Q immediately saw what James was showing him, and physically sat back in his chair as he read the readings on the star-chart that now filled the viewscreen.  “And more dangerous!” he exclaimed.  

Before Q could start in on a rant about how James was going to shorten both of their lifespans (and undoubtedly Catchpenny’s, too), the Stormtrooper hurried on to explain his plan, “Just hear me out, Q - if we go through that, it won’t matter how close that ship gets, because it’ll scramble our signal.”

“And ours.  James, that’s an electromagnetic asteroid field!”  Q lifted his hands, gesturing a bit wildly because he wasn’t sure how else to get the insanity of it all through Bond’s head.  “If we go through that, it won’t matter whether or not their sensors can penetrate it, because we’ll be pummeled to itty bitty pieces by debris that we can’t detect ourselves!”

“Debris that our ship’s sensors can’t detect,” James said with emphasis, as if that made a difference.  Q gave him a deadpan look.  Instead of being perturbed by that, however, James’ smile was coming back, and he finished confidently, “But I can.  The only thing I can’t do is pilot this ship with any particular skill.”

Q found his eyes narrowing, suspicion setting off alarm bells in his head - he wondered if his metaphorical alarm bells sounded anything like James’ troubleseeker sense.  “What exactly are you suggesting?”

“Oh, just a bit of teamwork.”

“I’m going to hate this, aren’t I?”

“I wouldn’t say that.  Do you mind back-seat driving?”

Q was starting to have an inkling of what Bond had planned.  “I hate it.”

Bond made a wincing expression, but at the same time reached forward to tap at the straps on Q’s seat - indicating that he should start buckling himself in.  “Okay, then you’re going to hate this.  But if my plan works and we act fast, we’ll be on the other side of a nigh-impenetrable smoke-screen before that ship gets close enough to know we were here.  Unless they have a part-Shezarand themselves, of course.”

“For their sakes, I hope they don’t.”

“Come now, Q, don’t be unkind.”

Q was already buckled in and switching the ship off autopilot, preparing to take over.  He said fatalistically, “Why is it that you always get so bloody cheerful right when things are about to go tits up?”

Instead of buckling himself in, James got up from his seat, circling around until he was standing with his hands braced on the back of Q’s chair.  He snorted at Q’s comment.  “Maybe because trouble is inevitable, and the only choice we have in the matter is whether or not we’re going to enjoy it - or be snotty about it.”  As he made the final comment about being snotty, he leaned in and gave Q’s ear a flick.  Q swung around to glare at him, hoping that his murderous look reminded James that one of them was armed with a lightsaber at this moment.

But of course all that did was cause James’ shit-eating grin to turn fond.

“Damn it all,” Q grumbled, turning back around again and giving his hands a flex.  He’d left his honey back in the ship’s little kitchen, and the ache was slowly creeping back into his joints.  Hopefully it would stay at bay until this was sorted out, because he had a ship to fly.  He reached forward to the thigmotropic pads even as he asked more seriously, “Is Catchpenny settled?”

“Right before you arrived, he popped his head in - I told him to get his metal arse back to his room and to hold onto something,” James replied, then at Q’s sharp look he defended, “I said it more politely than that!”

“I should hope so,” Q sniffed, turning forward again.  His hands were sinking into the pads, the ship coming alive literally at his fingertips.  The upside of his recent meditation was that the Force also felt like it was near at hand, alive and awake like an additional limb.  “All right - what now?  I’m assuming that you intend for us to work together on this.”

“I knew you’d catch on,” James teased, and this time before Q could get mad at him, James finally got down to business.  His hands moved from the back of the chair to Q’s shoulders, hands iron-strong and grip firm.  “You do the flying and I’ll do the directing.  I should be able to detect incoming trouble like I did in the solar storm, even with the sensors down.”

“Do not remind me that you flew us through a solar storm,” Q gritted.  He was already moving the ship forward, however - right into trouble.

He knew that James could feel it, too, by the way the Stormtrooper’s hands tensed upon his shoulders before purposefully relaxing again.  The little catch in Bond’s breath reminded Q of the sound someone made when you touched them just right, and that… that was most definitely something that Q did not need to be pondering right now.  Thankfully, Bond distracted him by speaking, “Hey, at least I’m not the one at the controls this time, and you’re not strapped down in the back with a dislocated shoulder.”  James squeezed down just a bit tighter on the same shoulder that had been dislocated, although it didn’t feel threatening - merely a quick press of strong fingers.  

“That is an improvement,” Q admitted.  He spread his own fingers, feeling how the sensitive pads picked up on the movement and translated it into the ship’s wings and engines.  They picked up speed.  “Tell me if we’re going too fast.”

“I like it fast,” James purred, leaning down a bit.  He was close enough that Q could just barely feel the man’s breath against the back of his right ear.  They neared the electromagnetic asteroid field, and their sensors began to blink alarmingly… before winking out entirely, one by one.  Q swallowed thickly, but grudgingly turning his attention away from the viewscreen.  All they could see of the world was blackness beyond the ship’s nose.  Q would be able to manually see some asteroids that way, but it would be up to James to notice approaching trouble beyond Q’s limited viewing range.  

When Q chanced a glance over his shoulder, he saw that Bond had closed his eyes entirely.  Despite that (and despite the situation), he looked calm, like this was the only place he’d ever wanted to be.  “A bit to starboard, Q,” he murmured, and at the same time the grip on one of Q’s shoulders tightened a bit, Bond’s weight pressing down enough to be noticed.  Q could work with that.  He nodded, letting Bond’s push translate down his arm so that he was soon turning the ship.  Bond let up with a little hum a few seconds later, murmuring, “Yeah, that’s it.  Keep going.”  Q steadied out their heading, and that seemed right, as James went still and silent.  The closer they got to the asteroids, though, the more Q could tell that James was smiling.

“If we survive this, I’m going to beat you with your own prosthetic arm,” Q grumbled even as they reached the point of no return: the chunks of space-rock were casting shadows upon the ship now, and the electromagnetic fields they were casting had knocked out all the sensors.  

Untroubled and eyes still blissfully closed, James huffed a laugh but replied, “Don't you mean, if we don’t survive this?”

“No, I meant what I said,” Q snipped, doing his best to keep his mounting adrenaline under control so that his hands didn’t shake - because if he let his hands start shaking, that would throw off the ship.  Nebelung ships were touchy things.  “This is pure madness, and you deserve a beating for even suggesting it.”

“That’s hardly encouragement for me to help get us out of here, when my reward is being beaten with one of my own limbs.”

Q’s responding cackle was a bit hysterical.  He dipped the ship’s nose down as an asteroid hove into view, too close above them.  A second later and James was pushing on Q’s right shoulder, and the Jedi responded as swiftly as he could, slanting them to the right.  He moved a tad too quickly and the entire ship jerked, making the pit of Q’s stomach do an uncomfortable lurch.  Even James grunted, and for a moment he had to let go of Q’s shoulders to brace himself on the back of the chair instead.  Belatedly, Q realized that James wasn’t strapped in - in order to best influence Q’s flying, the Stormtrooper had foregone a safe seat that he could strap himself into.  “Sorry,” Q muttered, contrite as well as anxious now.

“Sorry for threatening me?”

Now Q managed a noise that was a bit closer to a normal laugh.  “Gods, no.  You deserve a bit of threatening.  Besides, you seem more delighted than bothered every time I do it.”

“Touché,” James admitted, and he definitely sounded like he was fighting laughter, but Q didn’t dare look now. Perhaps James found this all to be a delightful adventure, but Q’s heart was racing in his chest, and he was missing the added input of the sensors like an amputated limb.  

Perhaps noticing Q’s increasing unease, James’ next words were said in a low, calm voice, all the joking from before gone, “Steady on, Q.  This speed is good.”

With that being his only instruction until James sensed the danger of another asteroid getting too close, Q just nodded, took a deep breath, and settled in for a flight that would hopefully not be his last.

~^~

Chapter Text

Q was beyond exhausted.  The meteor field hadn’t been all that deep, but since it would’ve been hazardous even with full sensors available, traversing it with nothing but James’ troubleseeker sense for guidance had been a nightmare.  They’d moved at a snail’s pace, every second of it nerve-wracking.  They’d come too close to death too many times, barely escaping collisions even with James sensing the trouble incoming and alerting Q as swiftly as possible.  Q’s Jedi reflexes came in handy too many times to count, although towards the second hour, he felt that damned poison in his system start to burn in his joints again.  He didn’t have time to go grab painkiller or eat honey, however, and he imagined that James couldn’t be feeling comfortable either - the ex-Stormtrooper was standing the whole time, his hands on Q’s shoulders the most effective way of translating where Q needed to angle the ship and when.  

The upside was, considering how damned difficult the entire journey had been, the chances of anyone following them through was next to zero.  

“Fuck,” Q sighed when they finally got the ship out into the open again - no more meteors, and the magnetic field was fading away behind them.  They couldn’t sense anything in that direction still (an invisible barrier of sorts that would protect them in return), but at least the sensors were winking back online again, showing readings from the other direction.  James released a noise between an agreeing sigh and a heavy groan from behind him, and by-now-familiar hands fell away from Q’s shoulders for the first time in over three hours.  It felt strangely like losing a limb, Q’s body having become so used to the sensation.  His shoulders felt suddenly very light and cold.  

James stepped past Q to lean forward over the controls for a moment.  For the first time in Q’s recollection, the man moved stiffly, rather than with that annoyingly silent, predatory grace.  He brought up a few readings, confirming what Q already knew: they had a limited sensor range now.  Bond made another grunting noise as he straightened - for the first time in three hours, Q’s tired brain belatedly realized.  The Jedi sagged back in his chair and winced in sympathy.  He didn’t bother to look away when the blond-haired man gave his torso a long stretch, back popping audibly and a slice of skin revealed as his shirt pulled up.  It would have been an equally tantalizing and embarrassing sort of show, but Q was honestly too fatigued to either blush or get excited.  

By the almost haggard look on James’ face when he dropped his arms and ended the stretch, he felt much the same.  “I think we’re in the clear,” he said, already angling his body towards the door in a hopeful sort of way.  

James wanted so clearly to leave the cockpit that Q waved him off without hesitation, “Agreed.  Go - I’ll set us on autopilot.  We should be able to make our original destination with minimal course correction.”

“Don’t kill yourself resetting the course,” James said, as supportive as he could be when he was all but staggering out of the cockpit.  His tired voice drifted back, “So long as we don’t hit anything in the immediate future, we can figure everything else out later.”

A little agreeing hum was all Q could manage, even as he actually followed Bond’s advice: instead of his usual perfectionism, Q just set them on a vaguely workable course before accepting that he no longer needed to be in control. Thank the gods.  Levering himself up out of the pilot’s seat, Q nearly collapsed right back into it, finding that James wasn’t the only one who was stiff - Q’s stiffness being compounded by his recent poisoning.  “Shit.  Shit shit shit,” Q muttered even as he hobbled out of the cockpit like a little old man.  

He planned to just rummage around in the medbay for painkillers, but to his surprise, found Catchpenny already there - holding both painkillers and Q’s container of honey.  Catchpenny’s damaged face shifted between concerned and warm and comforting, like a theatre actor switching out masks.  The effect should have been unsettling, but on Catchpenny it was a bit endearing, because it was clear that he was doing his best to awaken his original programming.  “007 informed me that I didn’t have to stay in my room anymore,” Catchpenny said, explaining his sudden serendipitous presence in the medbay.  Deciding that a bedside-manner expression was the best face right now, Catchpenny’s face spread into a necessarily lopsided smile.  “He also reminded me that your symptoms were likely to have returned.  I would be happy to assist in your care now.”

It wasn’t really a question, and even if it was, Q didn’t have the energy to argue.  He submitted meekly to Catchpenny’s care, although both of them quickly realized that Q’s pain had reached a point where it wouldn’t be easily tamed - not unless Q wanted to be drugged to the gills.  “This is manageable, Catchpenny, thank you,” Q stopped the little droid after a more acceptable level of pain medication (and honey) had been administered.  “I might need to check on things again in the cockpit, and can’t afford my mind and reflexes to be dulled.”  Just the thought of having to use either his mind or his reflexes right now, though, made Q want to start sobbing.  He desperately hoped that the precautions he was taking wouldn’t be necessary.  

He just wanted to sleep.  

Thankfully, Catchpenny didn’t argue.  If there was any place in the world where the damaged droid felt comfortable being pushy, it was in the medbay, but Catchpenny was apparently good enough at reading people to realize that this wasn’t an argument that he could win - not without making his patient cry.  Both of them exited the medbay, Catchpenny with a proud spring in his step as he retreated to his room.

Q made it all the way to the other sleeping quarters in a sort of a daze.  He still ached, but it was distant now - just another thing to add to the general throbbing of tiredness that had invaded his every fiber, from thought to sinew.  He was technically hungry somewhere in there, too, but honey was going to have to do for now, because he flat-out didn’t have the energy to hunt up more substantial food.  After all, before three hours of stress-laden blind-flying, he’d been astral-projecting without an anchor, so to say that the Jedi was stretched to the breaking point would have been an understatement.

And then the door to the second sleeping quarters slid open, and he realized one more thing: the bed situation.  Three entities on Glaurung, two beds.  James, understandably exhausted himself, was already sprawled out on his back, white sleeveless undershirt a flash of paleness in the otherwise dark room.  

Leaning heavily on the doorframe, Q let his previous panic, insecurities, and embarrassment over the sleeping accommodations swamp him for exactly three despairing seconds before he just muttered, “Screw it,” and tipped forward into the room.  He then let that momentum carry him right up to the bed, bracing himself and muttering as forcefully as he could in the hopes that there would be no argument, “Move over.”

James was already lifting up the blanket with one arm, blue eyes barely opening.  The relief Q felt was like a band of durasteel being released from around his chest - he wasn’t sure what he’d have done if James had thought to gainsay him.  The ambient light from the hallways disappeared as the automatic door hissed shut, and Q almost tripped just getting his shoes off, but the ex-Stormtrooper waited patiently (it probably helped that it was his prosthetic arm that was holding the blankets up, the mechanics tireless).  By the time Q’s state of dress would at least allow him to sleep, the blanket was still being lifted invitingly, although the faint running lights along the baseboard were enough to show that Bond had closed his eyes entirely.  Somehow finding the energy to be just the slightest bit flustered (but at the same time very, very relieved at this accepting reaction), Q clutched his bravery in both hands and finally collapsed into bed.

James let go of the blanket without needing to be asked, rolling over to take up less space even as the covers fell over the Jedi next to him.  With Bond facing the wall, Q considered shifting so that they’d be politely back to back, but he was already feeling so comfortable with Bond’s back a warm wall to his front and surely if he moved now he’d disturb the man...  Any further fretting was stolen away by the swift descent of sleep.

~^~

Bond awoke to the unexpected sensation of knuckles brushing against his spine, but since his troubleseeker sense wasn’t even humming at the back of his mind, he didn’t flinch.  Coming awake more slowly because there was apparently no danger, James took a moment to blink at the wall in front of him and catalogue the world around him (the familiarity of the bed beneath him, the faint vibration of the ship’s engines running smoothly, the sound of his own breathing echoed by another set of inhales and exhales behind him, the warmth of another body pressed close).  The pieces started to come together pretty quickly after that.  Yesterday had been hellish, and the thought of getting up now still didn’t appeal, especially because Bond was now remembering how the day had ended: with a very spent-looking Jedi demanding that he move over and then crawling into bed with him.  Said Jedi was now making little fretful movements against his back, like some creature chasing prey in its sleep.  It shouldn’t have been so endearing, but James found himself smiling anyway, especially when he felt silky hair tickle the back of his neck and a little huff of breath against his nape.  

When Q’s fidgeting got worse, though, and then the Jedi moaned unhappily, James finally twisted around enough to look over his shoulder.  “You all right there, pup?” he teased, albeit in a sleep-rough whisper.  

The room was pretty dark, and Q was so hidden beneath the blankets that James only saw a silhouette of a tense shoulder and tousled hair.  “Ache a bit,” was the grumbled answer Bond got.  From the half-formed nature of the sentence and the way it was also heavily slurred, James made an educated guess that Q wasn’t entirely awake.  James woke up more quickly, though, at the realization that Q’s recent poisoning was getting to him.

“How bad?”

A miffed noise.  

James rolled over a bit more, having to move carefully so he didn’t push his novel bedpartner off and onto the floor.  Once he’d turned over, James was able to cup a hand over Q’s shoulder.  Instead of coming fully awake and startling, Q’s grumbling turned into a happy hum and he arched said shoulder harder into James’ palm.  “Just annoying,” was the muffled reply Q deigned to give him then.  

The only thing between Bond’s hand and Q’s skin was a thin shirt, and James had put hot-packs on aching joints often enough to guess at the reason behind Q’s positive response.  Bond always had run hot.  Smirking a bit in smug pride, James kept his voice soft even as he shifted around to settle in more comfortably in his new position, “This help?”  He moved his hand a bit, spreading the warmth of his skin further towards Q’s shoulder blade, rucking his shirt to the side in the process.

Q made an encouraging noise and actually wriggled a bit closer.  It was just so damn adorable that James couldn’t help his grin from spreading wider.  He also was utterly helpless to resist the urge to do what he did next - so completely helpless that it was like he wasn’t even responsible for it, truly - which was to shift his hand and reach around until he’d hooked his arm around Q’s torso.  This made it possible to pull Q in against his front.

At that point, James’ troubleseeker sense finally buzzed a bit at the back of his brain - a warning little ‘He’s going to murder you for this when he wakes up’ sort of buzz.  But, like most part-Shezarand,  that was more of an encouragement than a deterrent for James, and he’d heard this type of warning often enough in his life.  And honestly, what could be more fun than cuddling up to a posh, potentially lethal baby Jedi?  This was exactly the kind of mischief that James lived for.

Based on past interactions, and the amount of wide-eyed blushing that Q seemed to do whenever he caught James in any state of undress, this situation would have gone very differently if Q had woken up.  Fortunately for James, though, they were both still exhausted - so if Q noticed anything at all, his only reaction was to make a wordless sort of mewl and then burrow closer.  That somehow had James freezing in a way that no amount of danger could ever make him do, as his plan sort of… backfired… and he found himself with a Jedi plastered to his chest.  One arm under the pillow that they were sharing and the other now lifted like he was avoiding touching something radioactive, the ex-Stormtrooper found himself blinking down at moppish dark hair in the dimness.  “Q?” he hazarded, half-sure that the Jedi was secretly awake and messing with him.  

But all he got was a questioning “Hmm?” and then a pained grimace from Q.  Bond relaxed as he saw Q arch his back a bit, then twist so that he could press the same shoulder as before against Bond’s torso, joints clearly still aching.  Relaxing and finding a smaller smile now nestled at the corner of his mouth, Bond lowered his hand.  It found a place on Q’s back, and started to move up and down - slowly enough that it imprinted soothing heat over every millimetre of skin before moving on.  Q’s relieved sigh whistled out sharply against Bond’s right pectoral.  

“If you get worse,” Bond murmured, relaxing against the mattress again, “you’re getting carted off to Catchpenny for painkillers, you hear me?”

Bond’s voice was a bit too hushed to be properly stern, which was perhaps why Q didn’t respond at all beyond a small grunt.  James splayed his fingers against the Jedi’s lower back, and felt a rush of fondness and satisfaction as Q gave another shuddering breath of appreciation.  Q by now had the backs of both hands pressed against Bond’s chest, as if trying to thaw ice out of his knuckles.  However, after just a few moments more, Q’s fidgeting stopped and his breathing deepened as he fell into a more peaceful sort of sleep.  James, still quite exhausted himself, saw no reason not to follow Q down.  He had one of the galaxy’s most mysterious, dangerous, and sought after beings in his arms - there was no other place a troubleseeker like him would rather be.

~^~

Damn, he definitely needed more painkillers now.  It was still nowhere near the supernova of pain that he remembered from his actual poisoning, but hours on end of white-knuckle flying hadn’t done him any good.  His whole spine felt like it had ground glass in it - the discomfort was almost level with what he’d felt right after the initial antidote.  Okay, maybe it was a bit better than that… but only because some parts of him were very warm, and the heat pushed the ache far into the background.  Note to self: heat-packs worked almost as well as painkillers, in a limited capacity.

Then Q’s ‘heat-packs’ moved and suddenly he was wide awake.  

Much as James had done earlier, Q found himself taking in the world around him, although at a more rapid, panicked pace.  His eyes had snapped open but he couldn’t see anything in the darkness - although he felt his breath ricochet back in his face from very close.  He wasn’t sure if he was more alarmed or relieved when his next move was to reach out with the Force, and the first thing that he felt was the unmistakable Force-presence of James.  That meant Q hadn’t been kidnapped or fallen down a dark hole or something, but it did mean that he was now very sure that he was still in bed with the ex-Stormtrooper… and somehow much closer than he’d been when he’d nodded off.  

Q remembered that he hadn’t had the energy to roll away, so he’d already started off with limited personal space.  Now, though, it seemed like he’d tried to just about crawl inside James’ ribcage in his sleep; his nose was nearly brushing the hollow of Bond’s throat where Q’s grabby hands had pulled the man’s shirt-collar down.  Bond had woken up enough to roll over last night, but clearly he hadn’t seen any reason to yeet Q out the nearest air-vent for his clinginess - and in fact, the Stormtrooper had one hand up under the back of Q’s shirt, hot as sun-warmed stone against the small of Q’s back.  

The worst part was, any part of Q not pressed unprofessionally close to Bond was aching badly enough that no amount of mortification made him inclined to move.

So instead Q just let out a resigned groan that ended in a very heartfelt, “Fuck.”

Bond shifted.  Q waited fatalistically to be kicked from the bed, having already decided that that was the only acceptable outcome.  If their positions had been switched, that’s exactly what Q would have done.  Instead, Bond’s hand on Q’s back flexed a little, Bond drew in and let out a deeper breath that did funny things to Q’s ability to think as the chest in front of him expanded and contracted against him, and then the ex-Stormtrooper did nothing at all.  In fact, it was possible that he woke up and then went right back to sleep.

Rather flabbergasted and honestly a bit offended that Bond wasn’t joining him in this existential crisis, Q blinked (his eyes were adjusting and now he could see faint shadows and outlines of the form in front of him, even with the blanket over them both) and then hissed sharply, “Bond?”

“Hmmph?” was the only response he got.  Bond’s hand moved distractingly on Q’s lower back again; it was like a feline kneading its paw on something, idle and lazy, and Q told himself that it only felt good because it did wonders for his aches.  Q tried to crane his head a bit without making matters worse, but mostly just saw the angles of Bond’s throat and jaw.  

“Are you awake?” Q forced the question out.

“Have been for about thirty minutes.  You started trying to shove your knee between my legs at that point, I think,” was the husky but utterly unruffled response.

Q abruptly knocked something over with the Force out of embarrassed shock.  

It took a moment for Q to realize that the twitches he was feeling in front of him were from Bond trying hard to stifle laughter.  Q hurriedly retracted his right leg - which had, he’d belatedly realized, been wedged between Bond’s warm, muscular thighs.  The only saving grace of this entire situation was that Q at least didn’t seem to be sporting any worrisome morning wood.  Moving, however, made his joint aches flare up, and the, “Fuck you, Bond, you smarmy bastard” got cut off partway through as Q bit his tongue on a wince.  

James’ shudders of laughter stopped.  “Muscle aches?” James asked unexpectedly.  

Although Q wanted to push himself back a bit more to regain some personal space, he also didn’t think he could look James in the eye at this point.  Besides, he’d just discovered that moving hurt worse than staying still.  “How did you guess?” he grumbled.

James still had one hand under Q’s shirt, but now as it gave a little stroke it felt apologetic and soothing - as did James’ voice, just a little, as he replied, “You actually seemed to be aching a bit last night.  That’s when you got cuddly.”

“Dammit all,” Q mumbled under his breath, turning his face down to hide it against his shoulder.  Something else jittered across the room as Q’s Jedi abilities lashed out again.

“Do the lingering effects of that poison set off your telekinesis?” James asked, sounding for all the world quite entertained by what was going on in the room.  

Q wriggled as if to escape Bond’s embrace, but that only reminded him that the only parts of his body not throbbing in pain were the ones James was touching.  The hand on his spine, for all that it was crossing quite a few professional lines, was the closest thing Q could imagine to euphoria by contrast.  “I think that’s the embarrassment doing that,” he muttered begrudgingly, “Have I broken anything yet?”

“No, but probably only because most things on the ship are bolted down.”  Predictably, James didn’t sound remotely troubled by this.  “Want me to call Catchpenny to get you some painkillers?”

“And have him find us…”  Q had to draw in a breath before he could shove the rest of the words out of his mouth, because saying it made everything seem so much more real, “...Like this?  No, that droid has enough sex-related trauma.”

This time Q both felt and heard the rumble of a laugh.  “If you categorize this as sex, then you’ve set the bar woefully low.”

 That finally got Q to push away, and the frisson of discomfort all down his arms and back was worth it for him to glare at Bond’s smugly smirking face.  “I have not set the bar-!” he started, then stopped, dragging a hand down his face defeatedly.  “You know what?  Nevermind that.  Catchpenny gave me painkillers already, and if I have too many more it’s going to make me foggy.”

“Which is a problem why…?”

“Because between the two of us, I’m the only pilot that doesn’t enjoy flying the ship into solar storms!” Q fumed at him, flabbergasted that this still had to be addressed.

James finally moved his hand from Q’s back, but only to his hip, as he leaned back and rolled his eyes.  “That was one time.”

“And then you were the one who got the idea to fly us through that asteroid field.”

“Both of those situations turned out brilliantly, I’d like to point out.”

“Oh, for the love of-!”  Q buried his face in his hands, pressing his palms against his closed eyes until he saw sparks against the insides of his eyelids.  “You’re insufferable.  You’re also insane.”

“All true,” Bond admitted blithely, “I’m also stubborn and don’t follow instructions well, so I’m going to ignore most of this conversation and go get Catchpenny.”  Even as he said this, the larger man was moving, and the fact that Q was between him and the door (Bond had slept against the wall) didn’t seem to bother him any.  Q dropped his hands with a wordless sound of indignation and alarm as James more or less climbed over him, and all the while Q’s body ached too much to put up any sort of proper fight about it.  Even his grasp of the Force was finicky, as stiff and uncooperative as the rest of him, so while he did drag a chair across the floor with a horrendous scraping noise, James still made it off the bed and splayed a hand between Q’s shoulder blades to push him face-first down into the pillow.  

“Stay,” the Stormtrooper ordered.

All of him one big ache but not wanting to admit it, Q turned his head without getting up, so that he could aim an incendiary look James’ way.  “And if I don’t?” he shot back rebelliously.

Bond was already striding towards the door, looking unfairly good in just loose trousers, bare feet, and a sleeveless tee.  “Then I get to play hide-and-go-seek with a Jedi on a space-ship,” he tossed back over his shoulder, and the grin that came with it was pure trouble, “That’s not exactly a threat.”

“Damn troubleseeker,” Q growled at him even as he buried his face in the pillow.  Maybe, if he was lucky, he’d suffocate himself before James got back to embarrass him some more.

~^~

Hot damn, how had James lived his life before knowing how fun it was to tease a Jedi?  By the end, James had had to push himself away just so Q didn’t realize that he was getting a hard-on, because the angrier the little Jedi got, the more those alarm-bells started going off in Bond’s head - alarms that would have off-put a normal person but only served to turn a part-Shezarand on.  If Q had had his lightsaber, James was willing to admit that he probably would have gone off in his pants like a teenager.  

Q really was in pain, though, so it was probably for the best that James had extricated himself to go and fetch their resident glitchy nurse-droid.  Walking out of the room (sternly reminding his cock that not everyone saw threats as foreplay so it may as well calm down now), James detoured to the cockpit just long enough to make sure that they weren’t headed right towards a black hole or something and then padded to Catchpenny’s assigned room.  In retrospect, giving the droid his own room had made Q and Bond’s situation rather inevitable.  

Thankfully, he wasn’t exhibiting any signs of arousal after his brief walk, because despite what he’d teased, he agreed with Q that Catchpenny didn’t need to be reminded of his past abuse.  A lot of people saw droids as nothing more than machines, but being part machine himself (with his advanced prosthetic arm), James had a bit more sympathy towards them.  They weren’t human, but he’d seen enough evidence to prove that they could feel fear and pain, and they certainly had long memories.  “Catchpenny, can I talk to you for a second?” he paused to knock, a courtesy that he admittedly tended to forget even with humanoid companions.  

There were a few sounds of movement - the slightly-louder-than-human footfalls that Bond associated with even the most well-designed androids - and then the door hissed open.  Catchpenny’s ruined face looked up at him, and while the little droid didn’t look any different than usual, Bond could see the tension in his posture and hear the way his internal motors were already starting to pick up speed. From all of his experiences with Catchpenny, it had become pretty clear that the droid was more uneasy around Bond than Q, and the ex-Stormtrooper didn’t blame him.  James cut a fairly intimidating figure, and he hadn’t even clarified what he was here for.  Realizing his mistake, James spoke up before Catchpenny felt pressed to say something, “Q’s aching again - I think he needs more painkillers.  I just came to tell you, as his acting physician.”  Bond tacked the last on as a bit of subtle ego-petting, figuring that Catchpenny deserved it.  To make himself less imposing, Bond also stepped back a pace and settled into a familiar parade-rest stance, hands clasped behind him; it was about as unthreatening as he could get.

It seemed to work.  The fans that had started to kick in (a sign of overheating, which was in turn a pretty reliable sign of stress in androids) powered down.  Catchpenny’s good hand, which had been clasped on the doorframe, eased along with the rest of the droid’s posture.  He cocked his head and for a moment seemed to glitch out - or else he was running the words through a few speech algorithms to find the best response.  

“I don’t have the proper programming to be titled a physician,” Catchpenny finally said, still watching James with those washed-out eyes, although they gave a slow blink as he added - this time making sure that it was Bond who didn’t have time to interject, “But I am equipped to medicate Master Q.”  And with that, he strode past Bond and towards the medbay.  He spoke without turning or slowing, either because he thought James was following him or because his conversational algorithms had glitched out and he was just talking aloud to no one, “Q asked for a reduced dosage of painkillers precisely three hours and fifty-eight minutes ago, and I did not believe that that dosage would be adequate.”

Smirking a bit at the faintly miffed tone in the droid’s voice (clearly Q was the only one who thought that under-medicating was a good idea), Bond let the droid go and instead headed back to what was apparently his and Q’s shared room.  James looming would probably only make Catchpenny anxious, and Bond definitely preferred messing with Q to hovering uselessly while a medical droid did its job. 

As soon as he stepped into the room (turning up the light just a few degrees, enough to see by), Bond immediately noticed how Q had shuffled over until he was firmly occupying the space on the bed James had vacated.  He smirked, more pleased with that than he probably had any right to be.  Q’s face was smooshed into the pillow, his back and arse an elegant curve beneath the sheets.  “Decided not to make a run for it then, just to be contrary?” James asked, settling into the chair Q had been dragging around with the Force - quite a feat, seeing as the chair was designed to not easily be moved in case of turbulence.  

Q didn’t lift his head, but his words were fairly intelligible despite the pillow muffling them, “Decided not to give you the satisfaction.”

“Pity.  Things might have even gotten interesting if you’d reached your lightsaber before I caught you,” James continued the banter, settling his arm on the armrest and his chin on his palm.  His danger-sense was just a low hum in the back of his mind - enough to keep his nerve-endings buzzing but not enough to ramp up his heart-rate.  Yet.

“It’s in the room,” Q threatened in a surly tone, “And since I’m a Jedi, I don’t actually have to get up and get it to take a swing at you.”  

The hum grew to a more insistent vibrato, and Bond’s eyes lit up.  “Is that a promise?”

Q swore in a language James didn’t know, although by pitch alone he definitely knew that he was being cursed at.  The ex-Stormtrooper’s grin widened, and the only thing that kept him from egging Q on was the knowledge that Q really didn’t feel well - and at that moment Catchpenny also entered the room.  “All right, Q, time to stop suffocating yourself - your doctor’s here.”

That worked like a charm, and for the next ten minutes James and Catchpenny bonded over bullying a Jedi into actually taking a full dose of painkillers - with a promise of honey to come afterwards.  

~^~

Chapter Text

The extra dose of painkillers did indeed make Q incredibly foggy, but apparently James had a few compassionate facets to his personality, because he ended up playfully pushing Q’s head down into the pillow again but saying kindly, “Just sleep it off, Q.  I can manage the ship until then.”  Catchpenny stayed in the room stubbornly, saying that he wanted to make sure Q was okay, but overall Q was simply left to rest some more.  The bed felt a lot bigger with only him in it.

When Q woke up four hours later, he felt himself again.  Catchpenny was gone, but there was the container of honey and a spoon by his bedside with a hastily scrawled note next to it reading ‘Ship’s still in one piece - reset course to Kalyk-5.  Whenever you see this, you’re still off-duty for 1 more hour, according to your droid - JB ’  Q snorted but decided that he could follow orders just this once; James was the recalcitrant one, after all, and it did sound like everything was going okay if they were back on course to (hopefully) meet Eve.  Dabbing the spoon into the honey and just licking at it slowly (with the pure sweetness of it, Q was glad that he had a high metabolism), Q padded barefoot out of the sleeping quarters but made a beeline to the kitchen to try meditating again.  He didn’t meet anyone along the way, which lent itself to the sense that everything was all right for once - which in turn made it easier for Q to slip into a meditative state after he sat down and got comfortable.  No astral-projection this time, he decided.  Just calming thoughts.  Despite that, he found his senses reaching outwards almost immediately to try to find James’ signature within the Force.

The man was like a solar flare, as always, and Q found himself smiling without opening his eyes or losing his focus.  If anything, he felt himself settling, and reminded himself that this was normal, of course - Eve always told him that having an anchor was a good thing.  Granted, that usually only pertained to astral-projection, and he’d never really tried seeking out another mind as a part of just his basic meditation routine. He wasn’t trying to do anything in particular, though, besides find a calm, peaceful balance within himself, so the Jedi didn’t try to rein in his senses as they sought out James.

The different sort of buzz of energy that was Catchpenny came to Q’s mind next, if only because the android and James were apparently near each other.  This was unusual, but Q’s sense of both of them through the Force was benign and light - nothing alarming.  Q was tempted to look deeper, but stopped himself when he remembered the last time he’d breached the privacy of James’ mind.  With that recollection, Q’s eyes snapped open, meditative mood breaking a bit.  Still, he felt relaxed and settled, and after drinking some water to further clear his head, he decided to go and see for himself what James and Catchpenny were doing.  

“Just hold it like this,” Q heard James’ voice first, encouraging and helpful.

Catchpenny sounded more dubious: “I do not see the purpose of this.”  Q still needed to see to his vocal mechanisms a bit more, reminded as always by the double-harmonic of the droid’s voice.  Honestly, an overall deep-cleaning was in order.  

As Q peeked into the cockpit, where Catchpenny and James were both standing, James’ back was to him.  He kept speaking coaxingly to his android compatriot, “So that you can defend yourself if you’re ever in trouble.”

“I can do that?”

“Well, I don’t know if you can, holding it like that, but you should certainly try.”

Catchpenny was at an angle to see Q, but either his programming was glitching or he was having to focus entirely on James just to figure the man out.  Frowning a bit, Catchpenny cocked his head.  “I’m allowed to stab people?”

To this, James nodded assuredly.  “Yes.”

Now Q could see that Catchpenny had one of James’ knives - not a big one, but still a serviceable weapon.  “I am a nurse-droid.”

Sounding ever-so-faintly exasperated now but otherwise staying remarkably patient, James put one hand on his hip and replied, “And that is why you should only use this for self-defence.  You are not a battle-droid.”

Catchpenny cocked his head the other way.  By now, Q was trying his damnedest not to giggle, because this looked like nothing so much as an interaction between a baby bird and its parent.  “Would Master Q approve of this?”

“Definitely,” James went ahead and shamelessly spoke for Q, “For a Jedi, he’s very pro-stabbing.  You can count on it.”

At that point, it was proven that Catchpenny was aware of Q’s presence, as he angled his head subtly to blink past James and fix his bleached-out eyes on Q.  “Are Jedi allowed to be pro-stabbing?” he asked while James jumped in surprise.  

Smirking now, and raising an eyebrow at James’ caught-out expression, Q stepped further into the room and leaned against the wall with his arms crossed.  “Very much so,” he replied, and watched as James exhaled sharply now that Q was backing him up instead of shooting him down, “We Jedi are very big on self-defensive stabbing in particular.  If the other person is mean first, and clearly aren’t nice, then sometimes stabbing is very necessary.”

Looking down at the knife with more interest now, Catchpenny nodded, and then slipped the blade into the little sheath that James had likely given him as well.  Both went into Catchpenny’s simple clothing.  “Thank you, 007,” the android said with all reverence, before exiting the room without further adieu.  

James watched him go, then snorted and said to Q once they were alone again, “I tried to convince him to take the thing for half an hour, and you get him to see reason in under a minute.  This is why he’s your android.”

“I hope you at least taught him how to not hurt himself with it in those thirty minutes.  He’s damaged enough as it is.”  Despite the rebuke implied in the words, Q was smiling after the android, and felt a fondness towards James for what he’d been trying to accomplish.  If anyone deserved to protect themselves, it was Catchpenny.

“Oh, I always start with safety first, can’t you tell?” James volleyed back blithely, and when Q barked out a little ironic laugh at that, James laughed along with him and said more seriously, “I made sure he could at least hold it safely, and we’ve got some time between now and when we reach Kalyk-5 for me to teach him a bit more.”  The man shrugged.  “It’ll keep me busy, too, which is probably for the best.”

“Definitely for the best.”

“I could train you, too, you know.”

Caught off-guard by the statement, Q stopped laughing and finally turned to look at James, finding the man watching him thoughtfully.  Dressed again in tough, serviceable work- trousers and a form-fitting black pullover more reminiscent of his Stormtrooper attire, James looked capable and athletic, almost physically reminding Q of every time he’d been manhandled by him.  Untroubled by Q’s startled expression, James just went on, “We’ve got at least four days until we reach Kalyk-5, where your mentor hopefully is, and you mentioned that you’re not very good at sparring.”

Q tried to rattle his brain back into thinking in full sentences again.  “Um, well, yes, I did say that.”

“I don’t know a thing about fighting with a lightsaber, but the First Order trains everyone pretty well in hand-to-hand combat,” James went on, even as he wandered back to the control panel to check on some things - likely the reason why he’d been talking to Catchpenny here, so that he could multitask.  “And MI6 taught me even more.”

Flustered and still trying to fully understand how he felt about this proposition, Q demurred weekly, “You really don’t have to.  It’s not like Eve will expect me to have improved any by the time we meet up again.”

“I don’t mind,” James assured.  He sat in the copilot’s seat but swivelled it around so that he could keep facing Q.  “Besides-”  Suddenly his face split into a roguish grin.  “-I like dealing with you best when you’re dangerous.”  While Q rolled his eyes at this, trying to hide an amused smirk, James explained, “You were so benign when you came into the room that I didn’t even notice you.”

Allowing just a sliver of a wry smile to slip out, Q teased, “Your troubleseeker sense not up to the task of tracking one Jedi pup, hm?”

“Contrary to popular belief, my genetic background doesn’t just allow me to echolocate any person in range,” James refuted, but he seemed ruefully amused, too.  “Full-blooded Shezarand are clairvoyant and telepathic; they’re not Jedi sensing the entire bloody universe through the Force.”

“Good to know that if I ever want to sneak up on you, I just have to think harmless thoughts.”

“Ah, but sneaking up on me wouldn’t be harmless,” James replied smoothly, the crows’-feet at the corners of his eyes giving away the fun he was having even if his mouth showed only a small hint of a smile.  “So really, your only hope is to have good enough fighting skills to get the better of me even when I can sense your malevolent intent headed my way,” he finished with a quick wink.

Sighing and really struggling to hide how much fun he was reluctantly finding this conversation, Q strode up and sat on the pilot’s seat, checking things over more thoroughly than James’ had, catching up on anything he’d missed while asleep.  “You really are determined to spar with me, aren’t you?”

“Like I said, it will keep me busy.”  James had turned his chair when Q sat down, so that he could keep facing him.  Long, muscular legs stretched out, his feet nearly tangled with Q’s.  “Plus, Catchpenny trusts you more, so it’ll be handy for you to be around if I make a move and he feels threatened.  I’m the big, bad Stormtrooper and you’re the friendly boffin who fixed his arm.”  This was said without rancour, or any sign that James was particularly hurt by this state of affairs.  

“Fine,” Q finally gave in with a sigh, “But no complaining when you realize how abysmal I am at hand-to-hand.  You’re insisting on being a teacher, and I have made no promises as a student.”  

~^~

As the time approached for James to teach his two crewmates what he knew about fighting, Q found his anxiety mounting.  He had spoken in a teasing tone about his lack of skills, and it was a common joking topic between himself and James by now, but Q really was terribly aware of how unskilled he was.  When he’d been left on Nik’ah’tenia, the First Order’s attack finding him on his own, he’d realized how dependent he still was on his Jedi Master.  Suddenly Q’s prodigal skills with technology and astral-projection felt useless compared to all that he didn’t know how to do, all of the Jedi skills he was still a terrible novice at.  He cringed at the thought of what James would think of him when he really realized what a poor Jedi Q was.  

They ended up working in the ship’s designated eating area.  It was the largest available space on the ship, and possibly designated for socializing anyway - with the kitchenette clustered on one side of the room, there was a decent amount of open space.  The floor also had a carpeted section that was decently well-padded, something that Q had appreciated whenever he sat down to meditate.  Now he wondered if it would be enough to pad his fall when James inevitably laid him out flat.

Thankfully, Catchpenny’s training was first on the docket.  

Q was a bit nervous how this would go - enough so to distract from his own anxiety.  After all, how did one train a droid that was opposed to offensive techniques, but who had been attacked so often in his life?  If James decided to simply attack the little droid, to get him to practice defensively, there was the very real possibility that Catchpenny would panic and even do himself some damage.  At the very least, Q was pretty sure that Catchpenny had some very understandable PTSD, and this could easily trigger or even add to it.  “Careful, James,” Q said quietly as he leaned tensely against the wall, watching as the ex-Stormtrooper and the bedside-nurse-droid stood opposite each other in the middle of the room.

Blue eyes flashed Q’s way, but there was only a nod of acknowledgement.  While Q folded his arms pensively across his middle, James looked calm and confident, although he also looked worrisomely strong and capable in his loose trousers and sleeveless white tee.  Q watched Catchpenny, having a hard time determining the droid’s opinion on all this as he stood motionlessly, eyes unblinking and face attentive but otherwise blank.  “All right, Catchpenny,” James said in a coaxing voice, “Draw that knife of yours and show me how I told you to hold it.”

With the mechanical nature typical of droids, Catchpenny obeyed.  Instead of doing something to test Catchpenny’s hold, however, James merely cocked his head thoughtfully, then padded forward with unhurried, unthreatening steps.  Q heard the light whirr of Catchpenny’s internal fans kicking on in mild anxiety, but James didn’t do anything alarming.  He merely circled enough to get a better look at Catchpenny’s grip.  Because of the damage done to his right arm, the droid was wielding the knife left-handed.  “Turn your hand a bit - like this,” James said.  Instead of touching the android, he mimicked the position of Catchpenny’s hand, then moved to the new angle he wanted.  “And slide your thumb up like that.  You’ll have more control.  That’s it.”

The soothing quality of Bond’s last sentence had some of the tension leaving Q’s shoulders as if it had been said to him.  Likewise, the mounting sound of Catchpenny’s fans wound down a bit.  

The next half hour continued uneventfully like that.  James seemed content with simply correcting Catchpenny’s form, being happy to demonstrate but never going so far as to touch Catchpenny - something that Q quickly saw was purposeful.  Catchpenny seemed to appreciate it, too, or at least his inhuman stillness seemed to fade, a bit more normalcy returning to his movements.  An android like Catchpenny, originally designed to put humans at ease, naturally had little fidgets and twitches, so when they went entirely still it was like a small animal freezing in the shadow of danger.  Before long Catchpenny was talking again, too, asking little questions from time to time - often just random things, or looking to Q to check if this was all right to do.  James took it in stride.  Catchpenny’s glitchy logic-board was a known factor now, and even when he suddenly jumped topics or got distracted, he seemed to at least be logging everything that Bond was saying.  The whole while, the most that James touched Catchpenny was to nudge his feet a time or two when mentioning his balance.  

“I think that’s enough for your first day with a knife,” James eventually declared.  “Give that time to settle in, and I’ll think of more to teach you tomorrow.”  In a movement that seemed reflexive whereas the rest of James’ actions had been very purposeful, the ex-Stormtrooper reached out and ruffled Catchpenny’s mop of synthetic hair.  “You’re doing all right, droid.”

That seemed to absolutely delight Catchpenny.  Q breathed a sigh of relief and almost laughed when the android, instead of feeling threatened by the overly familiar touch, perked up like it was his birthday.  Sheathing the knife, Catchpenny’s ruined face stretched into his typical crooked smile, and he veritably skipped out of the room.  He hadn’t been dismissed, but that was no surprise.  

“Well, I’m glad at least I didn’t startle him,” James said when the door closed, rubbing his hand over the back of his neck now in an abashed way.  Clearly he hadn’t thought out the head-pat before doing it.

“On the contrary, I wouldn’t be surprised if he started fishing for more of those pats, seeing as how he liked that one,” Q couldn’t help but tease.  Then his stomach did an uncomfortable flip and he sobered.  “My turn now, yes?”

James drew his attention swiftly back from the strange third member of their little gang.  “Hm?  Yes.  There’s no one in line ahead of you for my attention, at least,” the man said with a quick flash of a smile.  His posture was relaxed and easy, but all Q could think was that even the way James shifted his weight showed more dangerous potential than Q could manage.  This was going to be a disaster.  At least Catchpenny had wandered off before seeing it.

“All right, no lightsabers on the first day,” James started out jokingly, padding to the side to fetch some water.  He hadn’t worked up a sweat by any means, but he had been pretty focused on his task until now.  

Q snorted and pushed away from the wall, coming to stand uneasily in the centre of the room where Catchpenny had been.  “On a ship this small, I’m pretty sure that swinging a beam of plasma around is the last thing we want to do.”

“It’s also damn distracting for me,” James surprised Q by admitting.  He finished off the water and put the canteen back, wiping stray drops off his mouth with the back of one corded forearm.  While Q looked up at him in a bewildered fashion, James elaborated with a wry quirk of his lips, “Part-Shezarand, remember?  Most folks with my genetics die as soon as they can walk because we get drawn to dangerous things - and there’s not much as uniquely dangerous as a lightsaber.”

“I was worried I’d never be able to get it out of your hand after you used it on Scasla,” Q recollected, relaxing infinitesimally with the playful banter.  “You seemed quite enamoured with it.”

“Oh, ‘enamoured’ is a word for it,” James said pointedly.

There was something about the way his voice dipped low and his eyes lit up subtly that made Q think impulsively, ‘Fat chance that he’ll ever regard me that way.’  Right after he thought that, Q asked himself whether or not he wanted that, and then abruptly stopped that train of thought before he could stumble upon an answer he wasn’t ready for.  Q internally scrambled for some of that famous Jedi calm, trying to centre himself.  

Soon James was back on the carpeted floor again and they were standing and facing each other, Q feeling very small despite the fact that he was almost as tall as James.  Granted, the man had a lot more muscle than him.  “So are we going to start like you did with Catchpenny?” Q asked just to say something, and hated how his voice sounded a bit reedy and breathless.

“Seeing as you don’t have a knife, probably not,” was James’ reply, combined with a maddening little smile that made Q feel very stupid.  Then the smile grew more mischievous and took on a careful sort of heat that Q didn’t know how to interpret, “I also didn’t figure you to be as opposed to physical touch as Catchpenny, unless I’m wrong?”

“No, no.  It doesn’t really bother me,” Q’s mouth said before he could think too hard on the implications of what he was saying.  He just meant to say that he didn’t have a traumatic background of abuse that meant physical touch was terrifying.  Instead, he felt like he was suddenly opening the door to a lot of potentially flustering experiences - he was already watching James’ big, scarred hands.  

Seemingly oblivious to how jittery Q was getting, James accepted that with a nod.  “All right then.  That should make this easier.”  He paced a few steps to the right, and Q tried not to tense up at the feeling of being circled; James was looking him over with an entirely too critical eye.  Q was wearing garb reminiscent of what he’d been used to when training with Eve - barefoot like James, but loose-fitting shirt and trousers that gathered at forearms and ankles to keep the material out of the way - but instead of feeling familiar and comfortable, he felt off-balance and strange.  The problem was, he didn’t think that a change of clothing would fix that.  

“Your balance isn’t bad.”  Even as he said this, James reached out without warning, giving Q’s shoulder a shove.  Q stumbled a bit but rebalanced by instinctively reaching out and grabbing James’ offending arm, barely holding back the urge to use the Force.  James allowed the hold, and even glanced at Q’s hand on his forearm and added with a small smirk, “Not bad reflexes either.”

Hackling a bit, Q stepped away and let go of the other man.  “Let’s just get on with it,” he muttered.  A little voice in the back of his head was saying that bitterness and temper were not very becoming of a Jedi, but that just made him feel more grumpy and inadequate as he squared his feet and turned to keep himself facing James now.

“Someone’s a bit stroppy.”  As James spoke, he took a swing at Q - just a playful one, it turned out, not real force behind it.  

Q reacted as if it were real, however, lifting his hands and jerking back.  He blew out a sharp breath through his nose as he realized how silly he must look, flinching and blocking nothing more than an idle swipe.  At least he’d kept his telekinesis in check, something that had been difficult since the poisoning.  Willing his body to relax, Q muttered as primly as possible, “Well, this was your idea.”

By the way James raised one eyebrow, some of the stroppiness still came through.  “This is true.  That means I most definitely can’t complain if you take a swing at me in return,” James went on with an even more roguish smile, and with a glitter in his pale blue eyes that said his troubleseeker sense was acting up again - sensing Q’s temper like an addict getting a whiff of a potential high.  Q both wanted to roll his eyes in a huff and protest that there was no danger here to sense.  Short of drawing his lightsaber, Q was no more dangerous than Catchpenny.  

What Q was was riled up, however, and strung as tightly as a piano wire, so when James circled again, Q spun to keep him in sight - and tripped up on his own feet.  Even as Q’s arms pinwheeled, he saw James then lurch towards him, and misjudged it as an offensive attack.  After all, they were sparring, weren’t they?  And any good fighter would go for a weakness.  So even as one of James’ hands reached out for him, Q swore colourfully and tried to throw a punch, even knowing that he was about to end up on his arse.  “Q-!” he heard Bond bite out, clearly startled, but at least the pathetic attempt at a punch missed.  Somehow as Q was falling backwards, however, the ex-Stormtrooper still managed to reach out and grab hastily at Q’s clothing, and Q’s fall was gentled a bit as the larger man took some of his weight.  They both ended up on the floor, Q a bit less roughly than he’d expected, and James wide-eyed with surprise at it all.  Frustrated and embarrassed to his core, Q felt his connection to the Force flare up, reacting to his emotions when he’d been trained to only use it purposefully, calmly, and logically.  He had to squeeze his eyes shut with another curse, clenching his hands in the hopes that the physical grasping motion would reign his power in.  

A telekinetic wave still whipped around the room and rattled the canteen James had drank from.  It fell off the counter.  At least Q had kept the childish outburst from hitting anything vital or living, however.  

Eyes closed, Q could still sense James perfectly, the Force telling him that James still had one hand fisted in the front of his shirt and the other on the floor by Q’s shoulder.  Their legs were tangled together, which would make it difficult for Q to scamper out of here and pretend he’d never existed.  “Q?” James’ voice was weighted with caution.  

A small, murmured, “Sorry,” felt like the only appropriate thing to say.  One hand still clenched on the floor as a physical block against any more telekinetic blasts, Q lifted the other to cover his eyes.  

He waited for James to either tease him or get mad at him, but instead the man sounded concerned as he asked, “Did you just try to have a go at me with the Force?”

“Yes,” Q admitted miserably, not lifting his hand from his eyes but instead rubbing at his temples with fingertips and thumb - because it was a good excuse to not look James in the eye.  He defended himself weakly, “I pulled it back, though.”  Because that didn’t feel like much to brag about given the circumstance, Q decided to repeat, “Sorry.”

Q peered out from under his palm enough to see James hang his head as he let out a loud sigh; the man’s hand also unclenched from the fabric of Q’s shirt to simply spread across his chest.  “Q, you’re apologizing to a man who sees life-threatening situations as foreplay, and you didn’t even hurt me.  Just stop.”  He lifted his head again, and Q was caught with his hand half-lifted, hazel eyes peeking out to get caught in a candid blue gaze.  “I’m not mad, I’m…”  James looked around as if seeking the word.  

Q, in a fit of self-immolation, filled in despondently, “Disappointed?”

“Confused,” James corrected firmly.  “From the moment we all walked in here, you’ve read as ‘dangerous’ to me… but it’s not because you’re spoiling for a fight, is it?”

James sounded like he sincerely was confused, but Q didn’t know how to deal with it.  He was just about mortified enough to cry, and only now was realizing how much anxiety and pent-up feelings of inadequacy he was drowning in right now - and James was right fucking there and impossible to avoid.  Q had to clench his right hand harder as his telekinetic powers rattled against his hold, and when he tried to answer… he couldn’t get any words out.  He just puffed out wordless air and furiously denied that he might cry, and pressed his palm over his face again.   Maybe James would just leave.  Or Q would sink through the floor to float within the silence of open space.  Or some other equally unlikely miracle.  

“Q, hey-”  The hand left Q’s chest and wrapped around his wrist, and when Q bared his teeth impulsively and resisted the way James started to pull his hand away, Bond surprised him by letting go instantly and instead just cupping the side of his neck.  “You’re freaking out, aren’t you?” he said next in a quietly shocked sort of way.

Instantly Q denied, “I’m not.”

“Lying is not very Jedi of you.”

“Yes, well, neither is tripping over one’s own feet or being absolutely pants at combat,” Q snarled in return and then nearly lost control of his abilities again.  Something else in the room rattled.  Q swore and was forced to remove his left hand from his eyes, if only so he could press both hands to the floor, fists clenched.  That left him with little excuse to avoid James’ gaze, although he still opened his eyes grudgingly.  At least Catchpenny wasn’t here for this, or he’d surely lose all respect for his previously most revered human.  

When Q tried to turn his head away, James’ hand slid up until he was cupping the side of Q’s jaw, startling Q with the change in his touch.  “Q,” he said firmly. 

“ James ,” Q parroted back, in a decidedly more bellicose tone.  He thought he caught a flash of that troubleseeker hunger in James’ eyes, but the larger man smothered it this time.

Sighing and giving his eyes a little roll, James simply replied, “Unless it’s going to rock the ship, just let go of whatever you’re holding back.  It’ll do you good, come on.”

“But what if I-?”

“Q,” James said again, cutting him off, but this time he moved his hand until his thumb was hooked under Q’s chin, and the boffin found his jaw firmly in James’ grip even as the man leaned forward to them eye-to-eye.  “Just do it.  If you hit me, I’ll weather it.  Trust me - I trust you.”

Flustered more than he’d expected to be by the sudden, iron grip - and the closeness of James leaning over him - Q sucked in one sharp breath and then let it out harshly, searching James’ face for… he didn’t know what.  But maybe he found it, because instead of arguing, he closed his eyes again, and this time consciously relaxed and imagined some internal series of muscles unclenching.  His hands opened up, and yes, his control of the Force whipped out the room a bit, but it petered out a lot more quickly than he’d expected.  In fact, he wasn’t even sure that James noticed until he heard, “Good.  Good boy, Q,” and the man’s grip on his face eased.  

“You said that to me once before,” Q realized, the thought hitting him suddenly.  

“Yes, and you were freaking out then, too.”  James removed his hand, but only to place it on the floor mirroring his other hand, bracing himself a bit more comfortably as he knelt over his companion.  “Wanna talk about it?”

“Not really.”

“Too bad.  I’m right here and I’m told that I’m both incredibly nosy and physically difficult to move.”

Q couldn’t help it; he snorted out a nervous giggle at the statement, biting his lip and looking away to try and stop the noise.  

“Seriously, though, Q, you should have told me that you were getting worked up about this,” James surprised Q by slipping out of the playful tone and back into a more serious and sympathetic one.  “All I knew was that you were a more dangerous entity than usual, but cornered animals and determined sparring partners come across as pretty much the same to me in that regard.”  

Reminded of the limitations of James’ strange and often omnipotent-seeming gift, Q realized that he’d have to use his words.  “I’m not cornered, I’m just-!” he started, then rocked his head back against the floor to stare up at the ceiling instead of James’ face.  He wet his lips and made himself admit, “I’m just really terrible at this, and was dreading you realizing that.”

“And then I started messing with you,” James added with regret in his tone and a knowing nod.  Q lowered his eyes instead of confirming that James was right; he ended up just staring at James’ left hand - the prosthetic one - and pointlessly cataloguing all the ways in which it looked as lifelike as the right one.  “Look at me, Q.”

Q didn’t turn his head, but grudgingly he looked up at James askance, wary of ridicule.  Even if this situation had started out in a forgivable sort of place, it felt like it had escalated to where it couldn’t be anything but mortifyingly embarrassing, all because Q had acted irrationally - very unbecoming of a normal sentient being, much less a Jedi.  

Despite the opportunity for teasing, or even for innuendo (considering their positions, James stretched out just above Q), James’ expression was calm and his words low and unexpectedly heartfelt, “I already knew that you weren’t some sort of Skaaren battlewarden-”

“Yes, but I am a Jedi!” Q protested exasperatedly.  He flailed his arms a bit, and sent the water canteen skittering into a cabinet.  “Fuck it all,” Q muttered, thumping his head against the floor and wondering if he could become a bigger disgrace to Jedi-kind.  

James’ mouth was stretched in a crooked, wry half-smile now, but his words remained warm enough around the edges that they didn’t bite further into Q’s self-worth, “You are admittedly not as well-trained as the other Jedi I knew, but you’ve never tried to paint yourself as otherwise.  That counts for a lot.  And there’s more to being a fighter - or a Jedi, I imagine - than hand-to-hand combat skills.”

“James, I tripped over my own feet and flinched like a beaten child when you barely mimed a punch at me.”

“Only because you were nervous,” James shrugged that off easily.  He apparently had grown tired of holding himself up on his hands because he shifted to the side, until he was sitting against Q’s side.  When Q made to get up, however, James splayed his right hand across Q’s breastbone, chiding, “Nope.  You stay there and relax.  You’re as wound up as a hungry Zygerian hunting hawk, and I’m not letting you up until you’ve calmed down.”  When Q just stared up at him in almost offended disbelief, James went back to his previous topic as if his behaviour were totally acceptable and normal.  The hand didn’t leave Q’s chest - and as it was James’ prosthetic limb, it stood a fair chance of keeping Q in place if he tried to make an issue of it.  “Look, Q, I didn’t come in here planning to go a few rounds with you.  Like with Catchpenny, I was thinking of starting out carefully and slowly and finding out what you needed to know - however basic that was.”

Still too gobsmacked at James’ audacity, sitting over him and idly pinning him to the floor, Q said nothing.  He wasn’t even sure yet what he wanted to do, except that he’d already made enough of a scene, so he wasn’t ready to start another one by trying to get up.

Apparently untroubled by the lack of response, James merely went on in a more rueful, repentant tone, “And then I misinterpreted a few social cues, and got ahead of myself.”  

“Do that rather a lot, do you?” Q had the gumption to say to him.

James had been looking forward at the middle distance but now looked sharply down at Q.  What he said after two slow blinks was a frank, “You’re obviously not too embarrassed to be sassy with me, which seems promising.”

Q folded his arms pugnaciously and tried to ignore the weight and warmth of James’ hand on his chest.  Despite it not being a real hand, the synthetic appendage apparently generated some amount of heat, and Q found himself wondering how that heat compared to James’ flesh-and-bone hand.  “Just let me up, James.”

“Nope.  I’m still making a point, and you Jedi are an awful slippery lot.”

“We’re on a ship barely big enough for three people.  Short of jettisoning myself out of the airlock, I can’t very well avoid you.”

“See?”  James was smirking lopsidedly again, and tapped one finger against Q’s breastbone.  “Sass.  You’ve still got loads of it.  Now we just have to work on your self-esteem.” 

Feeling heat infusing his cheeks, Q looked away again, mumbling, “I’m pretty sure that we were focusing on improving my self-defence skills.”

“I can multitask,” James, the bastard, said with a shrug.  At that point, Q decided to risk it and rolled over, trying to get up.  He actually managed to make it into a sitting position, probably because James didn’t fight him on it - although before he could get up further or scoot away, the hand previously holding him down hooked around the front of his chest and pulled him back against James.  “All right, fine, I’ll stop making you uncomfortable,” James protested, while simultaneously prolonging the discomfort by preventing Q’s escape.  Q grabbed at James’ forearm but ultimately just huffed dramatically, unwilling to use the Force on the man to break his hold.  Thankfully, James was quick to continue, “What I meant to say is that I should have realized that you were uncomfortable earlier and stopped.  It’s just that you’re very fun to mess with, and even if you say you’re pants at fighting, you register as delightfully dangerous almost all the time.  I can’t help myself.”

James had been using a very straightforward tone with Q quite frequently lately, but despite that, Q tried to twist around now to check James’ face for sincerity - because his words felt like a very sincere declaration, despite the faint smile the blond-haired man was still wearing.  

The smile disappeared in favour of a frown when he noticed Q’s eyes on him.  “Stop looking at me like that - like I never say anything nice,” James said gruffly, offended now.

“I’m much more used to you being an arse about things,” Q admitted.

James defended himself in miffed tones, “Not about important things.”

Q opened his mouth to protest, before rethinking that statement and realizing that it was actually true… from a certain point of view.  James had been quite an irreverent arse about flying them through a solar storm and hiding Q’s lightsaber at first (both arguably important things), but had stopped being a bastard when dealing with Catchpenny and his insecurities.  And here James was now, dealing with Q’s insecurities with a similar level of thoughtfulness, even if they’d gotten off to a rockier start.  Q belatedly relaxed beneath James’ arm, accepting the weight of it across his collarbones and trusting the sturdiness of James’ torso behind him.  “All right, I guess I can give you that,” Q said.  Besides an accepting grunt from James, silence followed for a bit then, but it felt more comfortable now; Q’s mind drifted to the fact that this arm, James’ real arm, was indeed warmer than the other, the heat sinking into him.  He shivered a little as his body recognized the difference, the rest of the room’s air colder by contrast.  “So now what?” he finally asked, but carefully, like someone tapping their fingertip against an icicle.  

“Well, I’m not exactly opposed to just sitting here,” James said in a blithe tone, his right hand moving in a careless, dismissive gesture before settling on Q’s far shoulder again like it had every right to be there, “Like I said, I get a buzz just from contact with a Jedi.”

This time Q snorted, retorting wryly, “Just yesterday you admitted that I snuck up on you because you couldn't sense me at all.”

“Semantics,” James scoffed.  He squeezed his arm tighter, but instead of seeming like he was threatening Q or testing him, it just felt companionable this time, even as Q let out a wheezing laugh at the sudden pressure and reflexively reached up to grab Bond’s forearm.  He still ended up being pulled back, off-balance, but then James’ chin was on his head, and Q found himself holding very still because he didn’t know what to do or feel about this.  James gave him a moment or two to decide, perhaps, before asking in a low, gentle murmur, “Calmer now?  Feeling a bit less like I’ve got you backed into a corner?”   

“I think so,” Q replied in a similarly gentle tone, feeling as if he was still testing out something between them.  

After that, James let him go - he’d promised, after all, to let Q stand up just as soon as he relaxed.  They decided to take a break to check in on the ship’s trajectory and try again at these sparring lessons after lunch.

~^~

Chapter Text

Two men met aboard what could uneasily be called neutral ground, the planet below the First Order ship being sparsely populated and the tavern within the colony upon that planet being likewise.  It would have been difficult to find a more unlikely pair, one clearly a member of the First Order with his foreboding black greatcoat and pretentiously starched black collar beneath.  He braced large and capable hands upon the silver buckle of his belt, however, the usual gloves stuffed into his pockets.  Sitting already at the table he was approaching was a second man, equally imposing despite lounging in his seat lazily.  Both men were blond and broad-shouldered, and watched each other with eyes far too keen to be harmless.  

“Mr. Trevelyan, I presume,” said the man from the First Order.  His voice was accented, although uniquely enough that one couldn’t immediately pick out from which planet - or if it indicated an upper-crust upbringing or lowly roots.  

“Usually, I’d say that depends on how much you’re paying - but since you look like a flunkey of the First Order who paid me, you can call me Alec,” the other man answered with a roguish smirk to match the rest of his roguish appearance.  He was dressed far more roughly than his new employer.  

“No flunkey, my good sir,” the First Order’s man said with no apparent tone of offence; in fact, he reflected Alec’s smile, his broad mouth stretching even as his almond-shaped eyes crinkled.  He seemed sincerely amused rather than bothered even as he corrected, “ General Raoul Silva, at your service - as you seem to be at mine.”  The last was said in a lower tone, and perhaps that was meant to be a subtle reminder of who was in control here.  

Alec’s smile didn’t waver, but his eyes took on a colder glint as those words settled in.  The rogue gestured to the open chair across from him.  “In that case, take a seat, General.  I’d suggest you order a drink, but the swill here is just about enough to melt the teeth out of your face.”  

“I might abstain then,” General Silva said wryly, but he did indeed sit.  “To business, then? I’ve worked with mercenaries but rarely, so pardon me if I’m missing any finer points of business etiquette.”

“No etiquette here,” Alec said blithely, lifting his glass to take a sip from it.  He made a face and put it back down, apparently recalling his own warning a mite too late.  “Although I’ll need to know more about the job if we’re going to move forward any.  I assume you want me to track someone, although you First Order blokes have been damn cryptic about the details.”

“Haven’t you been reading the wires, Mr. Trevelyan-? Alec,” Silva corrected with a too-gracious smile, before continuing, “One of our men has gone rogue, and we’ve put a bounty on his head.”

“Ah, yes, I did hear something about that.”  Alec shrugged.  “Didn’t sound like something special enough to call in a specialist like me for.  What is it?  He a lowly Stormtrooper that learned something they shouldn’t, then ran off with secrets?”

“More complicated than that,” Silva replied, “More worth your time.”  He waved off the server-droid who tried to come and get a drink for him.  

Alec Trevelyan was a rare being, even within the vastness of the known universe, so he wasn’t hired for just any old mercenary task - and he wasn’t cheap.  So now he leaned forward, still half-prepared to walk out of this place without accepting the job.  “I’m listening.”

Silva’s eyes were lit with intrigue, his smile widening unsettlingly as he, too, leaned forward and dropped his voice conspiratorially.  “When this Stormtrooper first ran off, taking up with a foreign companion who had previously been of interest to the Order, it did indeed seem like an easy task.  But since then, we’ve reports that our very own soldier is, in fact, something of a Jedi.”

At this, Trevelyan’s eyebrows rose.  Before answering, he reached out and took a bigger swig of his drink, barely wincing at the burn this time.  “Well, that’s quite a fact to leave out of the wanted posters,” he opined, “Although I can see why the First Order wouldn’t want to admit to that.  Sounds pretty embarrassing, to have a Jedi right under your noses, seeing as you lot have become famous for hunting those sorcerers.”

“I assure you, the higher-ups are having aneurysms of bewilderment and fury over the whole thing,” Silva said almost jovially, “As for myself, I admit that I am more fascinated.  I’ve been keeping my eye on this Stormtrooper for some time now - he always showed promise above and beyond his station.”

“Seems like you might have been seeing that he was a Jedi, and you should have told someone.”

“No, no.  He’s part alien.  It made him… unique.”  Despite the barb in Alec’s words, Silva remained unruffled, and in fact talked about the wanted Stormtrooper in almost fond tones.  In reality, Silva’s interactions with 007 had been relatively limited, although arguably quite impactful.

Alec, of course, asked about JB007’s alien heritage, although when Silva told him, it didn’t mean much to Trevelyan.  He promised to have someone on his crew look it up later; it wouldn’t affect Alec’s ability to do his job regardless.  

“Now you can see why I’ve been given the funds to hire a Goldeneye like you,” Silva said with a deferential nod.  

It had been a while since someone had given Alec a job that actually sounded challenging.  His green eyes glinted an unnatural, metallic yellow for just a heartbeat before he downed the last of his horrendous drink.  Putting it down again, he stated, “Indeed.  Tell me more about this fugitive - and his companion - and we can get down to business.  You have something of the Stormtrooper’s?  I’ll need it if I’m to do my work.”

“Of course.”  As Silva spoke, the server-droid approached again - eager because Alec had finished his drink and potentially would buy another - and this time Silva swung his fist out without warning.  Despite it seeming like an idle, unplanned sort of swipe, with the android still mostly out of reach, the blow managed to catch the robot on one arm and send it spinning comically.  While that did get the point across that Silva was not interested in company, Alec still narrowed his eyes slightly at the sudden callousness.  Silva didn’t even blink, simply went on, “This chip has all of JB007’s service records, and I will relay to you what we know of his companion.  Capture both, if you can, although our interest in 007’s comrade has obviously faded in light of these recent discoveries.”  

Silva handed over a datachip as well as pulled a package from under his coat as well.  The package turned out to contain part of a uniform - JB007’s.  When Alec took the latter, he skinned off the gloves he wore.  Upon touching the shirt with his bare skin, his eyes flashed that inhuman colour again, and he nodded.  “This’ll do.”  He pressed his palm more flush to the material, seeming to focus; the glow of his eyes became more persistent.  When he withdrew his hand, he let out a slow breath and his eyes returned to their normal shade of green.  “Much obliged.  You can take that back.”

“You won’t need it again?” Silva asked.  There was carefully contained curiosity in his cunning eyes. 

“I’m a Goldeneye,” was all Trevelyan said, “One touch is all I need.”  He took the datachip and stood, having already paid for his drink.  “I’ll be headed back to my ship now.”

Silva stood with him, the movement easy and gliding despite his size.  “I will accompany you.”  When Alec opened his mouth to protest, Silva said smoothly, “Considering the amount I have already paid you, I would like to keep tabs on the First Order’s investment.  I also would like to be on-hand should you have any questions - JB007 is known to me, after all.”

Eyes narrowed, Alec decided not to fight the insistent company, instead observing, “You switch a lot between ‘I’ and ‘the First Order’.  Some would question just how invested you really are in this.”

“It is the First Order’s goal to better humankind, something that necessitates wiping out the Jedi and their dangerous, mystical ways.  My interest is only natural,” Silva said, with a hurt sort of frown as if offended by Alec’s insinuations.  “Now, I believe the Xanthippe Sunkite in orbit is yours, no?  I have already turned over control of my ship to my lieutenant, and I travel light.  I’m ready to leave as soon as you are.”

~^~

Q was in a headlock.  The arm around his throat was iron-strong, the crook of the elbow tightening around his throat to threaten his airway.

“Don’t tense up, Q.  You’ve got more control of this situation right now than I do,” James’ voice was totally calm despite this.  

“Oh, sure,” Q wheezed in bitter disbelief, once again fighting to keep his telekinesis from knocking over random things.  “This is definitely me in control.”  He had both arms around James’ but couldn’t get it to budge - potentially because it was James’ prosthetic arm, with metal and hydraulics instead of bone and muscle.  

“I’m ignoring the fact that you’re a Jedi and could probably throw a chair at me right now,” James retorted, and Q just grunted in response to that.  He didn’t want to confirm or deny whether or not he had the control to do that, especially since self-defence with James Bond still made him anxious.  “Now try to twist a bit so you’re less in front of me and more beside me.  Most choke-holds will be like that anyway.”  To make his point, James shifted a bit himself, so that Q was bent awkwardly at his side but still had his neck caught in the hook of James’ left arm.  Yes, Q definitely had some childhood memories of being grabbed and even dragged around like this.  “Now you have at least two options.”

“Really?” 

“If you put any more sarcasm in that mouth of yours, you’re going to choke,” was James’ tart response to that, although like before, he returned to business quickly, “Option number one I’d rather you just memorize and not practice - you can hit an attacker in the groin.”

Q had been wriggling but not outright struggling, just on reflex, but now he froze and twisted his head a bit to take stock of where he was.  “Hm.  I suppose I do have a rather perfect shot.”

With evident sincerity, James requested, “Please don’t use it.  I’d much rather just let you go than have you go for my balls.  Now, option number two I want you to practice, though.”

Q wriggled a bit more but couldn’t exactly get comfortable.  “Fine.  What am I supposed to do, since I’m so utterly in control right now?” he huffed.

“What did I say about sarcasm?”

“It’s either sarcasm or I knock things off the walls with the Force.  Which the fuck do you want, James?”

Q felt the man maybe stifle a chuckle, before giving up on that subject.  “Get your right leg in behind mine, Q, and reach your right arm up behind my back.  I’m not much taller than you, so you should be able to hook your arm over my shoulder and go for my face.”

Once again pleasantly surprised by these heretofore unexpected options, Q paused a moment to take in those orders, then shifted his weight.  He wasn’t exactly quick or graceful about it, but this was his first time trying this.  His right side was up right to James’ left, but he shifted until his right foot was braced behind James’, and the angle that James was holding him already had Q’s right shoulder and arm pressing up against James’ back and side.  It felt awkward to grab upwards, but once he got his arm hooked over Bond’s shoulder, he was gratified to hear the ex-Stormtrooper grunt, “Watch it.  If this happens for real, try and find the eyes, but right now you’re about to put your fingers in my mouth.”

“And… is that good?  Am I doing this correctly?” Q asked carefully.  He tried to look up and gauge his actions but couldn’t, James’ grip too tight.  

“Yes, but I’m going to teach you another step, if you can’t claw someone’s eyes out,” James replied, “In a moment I want you to press my face back as hard as you can, while keeping your right leg braced.  If it works, I’ll trip backwards.”

“And if it doesn’t?” Q said a bit breathlessly.  James’ wasn’t squeezing all that hard, but the headlock was nonetheless a very firm and efficient hold.  

Q could feel James’ face beneath his hand, but was startled to feel the man’s mouth actually move against his skin, “Then you go back to aiming for the groin and the eyes.  Like I said, you’ve got options.”

Not waiting any longer, Q braced himself and hurled all of his strength into doing exactly what James had told him to.  What followed was quite chaotic, and all Q knew was that in the end, both of them landed hard on their backs on the floor - although the headlock was broken, and James definitely landed harder than Q did, as evidenced by his groan.  “Shit.  I’m so sorry,” Q immediately twisted over onto his knees at the ex-Stormtrooper’s side.

Eyes closed and a grimace on his face, James nonetheless waved him off.  “No need, Q.  I keep forgetting these aren’t practice mats.  You did the manoeuvre right, though, which is what counts.”

Dubious, Q asked, “So this is how it’s supposed to end up?”

Blue eyes blinked open as James recovered.  “More or less.  Ideally, you want to bend your opponent back while keeping on your feet, but this is only your first time trying this.”  Those pale eyes flicked over to Q, and there was an easy smile on James’ face as he added, “You’re a quick learner.”

Feeling himself flush, Q looked down shyly.  “You’ll have to tell Eve that.  She’s been trying to get basic self-defence lessons into me for months.”

Further discussion on whether or not Q was a good student overall was curtailed as the kitchen door opened just enough for Catchpenny to lean his head in.  “I heard a loud crash,” he said.  His face was completely blank of expression, which meant he was probably startled.

Still flat on his back, James raised one arm.  “That was me.  Don’t worry, droid, your patient is unharmed.”

Catchpenny stepped the rest of the way in then, and his expression settled into something more politely concerned as he strode forward.  “Do you require medical attention?”

James waved him off as he pushed himself into a sitting position.  “No, I’m fine.  Stupid, but fine.”

Q knew that James was referring to how he’d forgotten about the relative thinness of the floor padding, but couldn’t help but smirk and tease, “A chronic condition, it would seem.”

To Q’s surprise, James immediately twisted towards him, snaking an arm around Q’s neck again before Q could do anything more than squeak.  “I’ve had just about enough of your sass, pup,” was growled in his ear, but the threat was just a veneer, as James didn’t strangle him, but instead ruthlessly proceeded to ruffle Q’s hair.  As Q yipped and squirmed and (rather against his own will) laughed, James just moved and twisted along with him, weathering Q’s escape attempts like it was natural.  

By the time James went completely still, they were both laughing breathlessly.  In fact, James’ voice was full of humour even as he said, “You might need to call off your droid, Q.  Either he’s glitching again or he doesn’t realize that I’m roughhousing.”

“What?” Q panted, opening eyes that he’d closed at some point while struggling.  

“He’s got his knife on me.”

That got Q to sober up damn fast, and when he twisted and sat up in alarm, James let him go.  Looking back over James’ shoulder, Q saw a trembling Catchpenny holding out his knife so that it was almost tickling the back of James’ neck.  For his part, of course, James’ eyes were bright as if he’d drunk something strong and alcoholic, and it looked like he was having a hard time holding still… and definitely not because he was afraid and wanting to escape the danger.  “Catchpenny,” Q said calmly, deciding to focus on the part of this problem that did not have a genetic addiction to life-threatening situations, “James and I were just playing.  Friends do that.  He wasn’t hurting me.”

Big pale eyes looked up at Q, and some of the naked machinery of the ruined side of Catchpenny’s face twitched.  “To be grabbed that way is unpleasant,” he said in a voice so stiff and unbalanced that it was actively difficult to decipher, the double-harmonic almost seeming to slur.  Catchpenny’s internal fans were running, and Q feared for his internal systems - both the hardware that was overheating and the software that was struggling to process mere words.  It was clear that Catchpenny was speaking from experience, if not downright reliving some experiences.

To his credit, James made not a sound and didn’t move a muscle, allowing Q to control the situation as best he could.  Placing a hand on James’ shoulder for balance, Q stood up slowly.  He had one hand out in a belaying gesture, but also used it to help focus his telekinesis, carefully wrapping his ethereal grip around the knife without moving it yet - he didn’t want to alarm Catchpenny more than he already was.  “Not when both parties are friends,” Q tried to explain.  The naked bioacrylic of Catchpenny’s neck made a strange gritty noise as he turned his head sharply to watch Q rise.  Q endeavoured to move a bit more slowly.  He tried to also elaborate further, “I was laughing, Catchpenny.  And if I’d told James to let go, I know he would have.  Before you came in, he was even teaching me how to get out of headlocks like that.”  

Catchpenny seemed to be calming down, or at least his logicboard was working through these new facts that Q was giving him.  Eyes growing unfocused, the android just stared at nothing for a moment before his arm withdrew and dropped.  Q was glad that he hadn’t had to use the Force to disarm him, and sighed in relief.  For his part, James turned his head enough to look over his shoulder out of one eye, probably sensing the lessening danger in that weird way he had.  

“Is it true?  You would have let go?” Catchpenny was talking to James now.  The knife was still unsheathed in his good hand.  His bad hand was twitching, a possible sign of the strain on his neural harness that Q would have to check carefully later.  

“In a heartbeat,” James replied solemnly.  

“And you will not grab me that way?”  Catchpenny’s voice had developed an edge.  The double-harmonic ground the words together, like two chipped knives against each other.  The whir of his fans kicked up again.  Quite firmly, he added, “I would not be laughing,” as if this were a well-known criteria for consensual vs non-consensual grabbing.  

Thankfully, James had no trouble going along with it, turning his head just a bit more so that he could look at Catchpenny steadily and declare, “Then I wouldn’t dream of doing that to you.  I only touch you after asking permission, remember?”

This hadn’t been expressly said before, and even Q found himself going back in his memory - they’d had two more self-defence lessons with James since that first one, and indeed, James had always been very hands-off with Catchpenny.  The droid finally seemed to relax as he confirmed this, nodding and admitting, “This is true.  My memory records do not indicate that you have ever touched without asking permission.”  He cocked his head, such a normal action that Q felt himself sagging with relief.  “Do you ask Q’s permission?”

“Most of the time.”  James had to hedge that one a bit, although Q had to say, James was surprisingly cordial when it came to physical touch.  Their initial rough start notwithstanding, the ex-Stormtrooper tended to forecast physical contact in some way or another.

“Do you ask everyone’s permission?” Catchpenny pressed.  At this point he just sounded curious, all previous signs of alarm gone.  

Now James grinned, slowly and with teeth, a dangerous expression.  “Never enemies.  Only friends,” was his succinct answer.  

For some reason, that made perfect sense to Catchpenny, who smiled and closed his eyes in a trusting, accepting sort of way.  “Ah.  That makes quite a lot of sense.  Master Q and I are friends, 007?”

James nodded without hesitation, leaving Q feeling strangely like his heart was flipping over in his chest even as the blond-haired man added, “I’ll warn you if you ever become enemies.”

“Many thanks.”  Catchpenny’s eyes opened again, but the undamaged side of his face continued to show a smile.  “Are you sure you require no medical attention?”  When James replied that he did not, Catchpenny gave a formal, bright sort of nod (for once seeming to forget Q’s existence instead of Bond’s) and then walked out of the room as if nothing had happened.

Q let out a slow, whistling breath.  “Well, that wasn’t ideal,” he murmured.

James shrugged.  “It wasn’t so bad.”  He’d drawn his knees up enough to comfortably drape his arms over them, looking indecently relaxed for a man who had just had a knife pointed at him.

Q leaned around to get a better look at James’ neck.  “He actually nicked you, you know.”

“I thought I felt that,” James admitted, only then raising a hand to touch gingerly at his nape - then moving to look at the small smear of red on one fingertip.  “I considered having him look at it, him being a bedside-nurse-droid and all, but figured that might just stress him out more.”

“It probably would have,” Q agreed worriedly.  “I should go check on him, make sure he didn’t fry any of his own circuits.”  James waved him off with a nod, but instead of instantly leaving, Q shifted from foot to foot, pondering something.  Just as James looked up, eyebrow raised questioningly as he realized that Q was just hovering there, the Jedi got up the gumption to say, “James, I know it’s just a small cut… but if you wanted somebody to see to it, I probably could?”  He hated that he made it a question at the end, his uncertainty in his own abilities showing through.  Still, he made himself go on, “The Force can be used for healing.  I’m not necessarily any better at it than I am at any other Force-related skill, but if you’re okay with it…”  He let the sentence hang and just shrugged.  He wasn’t entirely sure what he was doing, except that he both wanted to try and also was desperately afraid of making a fool of himself.  

Fortunately or unfortunately, James was quick to lift and drop his shoulders in a shrug, accepting, “If you want to.  So long as there’s no risk of you turning me into a vegetable or something.”

That, at least, Q could answer with certainty, scoffing, “I’m sure I can avoid that at least.  Most likely, nothing will happen at all, and I’ll just ask you to forget that I ever brought it up.”

A ghost of a smile was lurking around James’ mouth and eyes.  “I don’t know.  I might have to tease you relentlessly.”

Rolling his eyes, Q finally just walked forward, moving around behind James even as he lamented, “I don’t know why I even put up with you.”

“Because you’re a good, benevolent Jedi.  Not a mean thought in your entire body.”

“I wouldn’t count on it,” Q grumbled in mild warning, but then took a deep breath to focus himself and raised one hand so that it hovered just above the little nick in James’ skin.  Q’s other hand he hesitantly braced on James’ shoulder again, both to keep himself steady as he leaned over a bit, but also to ground himself in the steady pulse of life that he could feel there through the Force.  That was familiar.  He knew James’ Force signature.  The cut was just like… a little bit of discord in the overall song.  And all he had to do was put it back into harmony again.  “Let me know if you feel a tingle.  Or if it stings.”

“Are those good signs or bad signs?”

“Probably good?”

“Your bedside manner is truly spectacular,” James deadpanned.

Q had a quick answer for that, quipping, “I’ll remind you that I’m not the bedside-nurse-droid,” before he went silent and just concentrated.  He’d only practised this a few times with Eve, but always on very small injuries - not unlike this.  Changing the subject, Q needled further, “And this seems like yet another instance where your troubleseeker sense didn’t do a very good job of actually alerting you to trouble.”  

“If it had been a serious threat, I’d have done something,” James deflected, not surprisingly.  What was unexpected was when he added an altogether more mischievous tone, “And besides, I was having too much fun to stop for just a bit of danger.”

Talking always had the potential to distract Q, but he wasn’t expecting to be jarred this much, as James’ last sentence had him freezing in place and jerking his head to stare at the men.  He couldn’t really see James’ face from where he was standing, but thought that he caught just the edge of a playful smile.  “I…”  He cast about for something to say, but ended up just mumbling and looking down at his work, “I need to focus.”  Was it the coward’s way out?  Probably, yes.  But it was necessary for Q’s sanity, because he wasn’t entirely sure what to do with the realization that James had been enjoying his closeness so much that he’d decided it was worth it to tolerate a knife to his neck.  

James made a noise that might have been a breathy laugh or just a louder exhale than usual, and to his credit did sit still and cease to be endlessly distracting.  

And Q, by some miracle, managed to actually focus on the Force enough to make the freshly nicked skin seal over as if it were a day-old injury.  He exhaled loudly and sort of sagged where he stood the moment he realized that he’d succeeded, both hands now pressed against Bond’s shoulders.  “Okay.  I did it.  Not that I should brag about healing what was basically a really mean papercut-”

“Go ahead and brag,” James cut him off.  He reached back to feel his neck, and then twisted enough that Q saw the pleasant surprise on his face when he likely realized that it was all but gone.  “The Jedi I met never healed anything at all, so I’m suitably impressed.  And all I felt was a warm sort of tingling that was actually rather nice, seeing as previously it just sort of burned.”

The report had Q smiling and feeling more giddy than expected - although when he realized where his hands still were, he stood up swiftly and withdrew them with another case of flustered nerves.  In fact, something rattled across the room as he bumped it telekinetically.  “Shit,” he muttered, more resigned than dismayed at this point by his abysmal use of the Force.  Eve was going to lecture him on discipline for days.  “How much longer before we hit Kalyk-5 so that Eve can explain to you why I should not be bragging?” he lamented with dour humour.

James just chuckled at him, while also rolling easily to his feet.  Apparently the fall truly hadn’t done much to him, as his movements were as agile as ever.  “Tomorrow sometime,” he answered.  He still had one hand on the back of his neck as if not quite believing that his skin there was whole again.   “Although if you’re really that worried that your Jedi skills have flagged since last seeing your teacher, we could probably practice them between now and then.  Or once we’re planetside.”

Narrowing his eyes, Q guessed, “You just want me to whip out my lightsaber, don’t you?”

James’ grin was slow and lit his eyes in a way that should have been illegal.  Q immediately regretted asking the question.  The ex-Stormtrooper padded forward, his steps powerful and rolling and putting him a lot closer to Q a lot faster than expected.  “I don’t know,” he said faux-innocently, blue eyes half-lidded, “Maybe I’m still just trying to work on your self-esteem.”

“Last I checked, your heritage doesn’t make you borderline addicted to my self-esteem ,” Q pointed out.  However, he’d just realized that the kitchen counter was against his arse, and he couldn’t back up any further.  James was a looming presence in front of him, and Q suddenly wondered what he’d sense now, if he was a troubleseeker like James - would there be alarm-bells ringing in his head?  Would there be a little voice warning him of impending danger here?

James just cocked his head slightly, a posture so commonly done by Catchpenny but so monumentally different when done by James as he eyed Q consideringly with his intense gaze.  “That’s where you’re wrong, Q,” he said very lowly, voice like a breath of hot smoke as he leaned in just a bit closer still.  Q found himself holding his breath, hands bracing behind him on the counter.  James’ voice drifted to his ear almost gently as he finished, “There’s not a lot out there more lethal than a self-assured Jedi, and therefore not a lot out there that I’d love tangling with more.”

And with those words, James turned and walked out of the room - presumably to take his turn checking the autopilot.  Or maybe he’d try flying the damn thing; Q didn’t even care anymore, because he was pretty sure that his entire brain had just rebooted and he could still feel James’ presence like a solar flare against his skin.  

~^~

Chapter Text

Q and James had started up a wordless agreement in which they were sleeping in shifts, to avoid dealing with the ‘not enough beds’ situation.  It still meant that Q woke up cuddled around a pillow that smelled like Bond when he heard the ex-Stormtrooper’s voice coming in over the comms, “Hope you’re not sleeping too deeply, Q, because I think we’ve got trouble.”

“Fuck,” Q groaned, or some close approximation to it as he smothered his face one last time into the pillow.  He’d been having a rather nice dream… the contents of which he didn’t want to dwell on, because it had probably been directly influenced by the familiar, masculine scent of the pillow he was wrapped around.  When he lifted his head he swiped outwards with a hand, using the Force to hit the comm button by the door.  “I’m awake.  On a scale of mildly buzzed to high as hell, how much trouble are you sensing?”

The first reply was a chuckle.  “You’re not going to like my answer.”

This time when Q repeated “Fuck” it was with much more enunciation and feeling, and he fought his way free of the blankets.  “I’m on my way to the cockpit.  How far are we from Kalyk-5?”  When Q had begrudgingly given up the helm and tottered off to catch some sleep, they’d been tantalising close to their destination.

James confirmed that by answering regretfully, “Close enough to see the planet from the view-screen.”

“Keep us headed towards it,” Q commanded before finally getting his boots on and darting out of the room.  He only paused long enough to send out a general message on the intercoms for Catchpenny to get to his room and stay there, please and thank you.  Glitchy as he was, Catchpenny’s self-preservation instincts made him pretty obedient in situations like this, so Q turned his focus to the task at hand.  

James gave up the pilot’s seat without a word the moment Q arrived.  “Two ships - I sensed them before the sensors confirmed it, but they’re coming up fast.”  James’ voice was blunt and clipped, and Q wondered if this was what JB-007 had talked like when he was being a good little Stormtrooper… if he'd ever truly been a good little Stormtrooper.  “Given the bounty on both of our heads, I’d rather not meet up with them, even if they’re just rushing up for a friendly hello.”

“Agreed,” Q replied grimly as he strapped himself in.  He took a deep, steadying breath even as he stretched his hands out to press them against the thigmotropic controls.  “I suppose it’s time to see if I can fly this thing at speed - you’d better buckle yourself in, just in case.”

“I’m sure you’ll do fine, Q.”  James was starting to sound annoyingly calm, which just served to make Q more worried - because James’ fucked-up reactions meant that the danger mellowed him out.  Notably, though, he was following Q’s instructions and strapping himself into the copilot’s seat.  

Q’s only request was, “Just tell me if you sense things getting any more dangerous,” although he wasn’t sure what he’d even do with that.  Regardless, he pressed his palms hard into the pressure-sensitive controls and shifted the weight of his palms forward, immediately feeling the hum of the engines kick into a lower, heavier, more eager octave.  Q had tested out Glaurung’s speed a bit back on Scasla, but that had been within the atmosphere - up in space, with no friction or resistance to hold her back, the sleek Nebelung ship took off like a hot needle through butter.  Q was pretty sure that he heard James suck in a sharp breath next to him, but couldn’t afford to shift his focus from the task at hand.

Because he could see the ships on the sensors now, too - and a chase had just begun.

Q didn’t recognize what class of ships were after them, but to give credit to where it was due, they were fast, too.  They took a bit to gain momentum, clearly not as nimble as Glaurung , but especially since Q and James had a vested interest in sticking close to the current planet, that left them in a bit of a fight position: they could run away, yes, but they’d eventually have to come back.  These ships seemed to obviously know the area, too, as Q began to weave Glaurung in and out of the sparse asteroid ring that belted Kalyk-5 and the pursuing ships followed with ease despite having obviously less manoeuvrability.  “They know the area,” Q gritted out even as he tightened the Nebelung ship’s ‘wings’ in as close as they could go to avoid getting one sheared off by a lump of floating rock.  The larger ships were also big enough to weather some of the debris, something that the swift, light little Glaurung had no hope of doing.

“And they’re getting less friendly,” James replied in a similarly grim tone, although before he could elaborate, Q saw the flashing light that indicated they were being hailed over comms.  On impulse, he opened the channel.

“Unknown ship!” came the immediate hail, spoken in a language that took Q a hot second to place before his brain translated it, “Know that you are flying through Cithaerian space, controlled by the Cithaerian Triumvirate.  Declare yourselves and follow us down to be boarded.”  

“I don’t know what they just said,” James said when the message ended and Q closed the comm-link, proving that this was another language that only one of them spoke, “But I can tell you that the intent behind it wasn’t friendly.”

“Considering they want to board us, because we’ve entered Cithaerian territory, I tend to agree,” Q said.  By now his own nerves were buzzing, and he wondered if this rush of adrenaline was just a more gut-twisting version of what James experienced.  “Seeing as I’ve never heard of the Cithaerian Triumvirate, I’m going to just pretend I didn’t hear that message.”  

“Sounds like my type of plan.”

“You have no idea how not reassuring that is,” Q replied with admittedly a bit of a whine in his voice, before he dared increase his speed further - risking more crashes in favour of putting some distance between them.  

“Just admit that my plans have worked so fa-” James started to say blithely, before suddenly he was swinging his copilot’s chair on its track, so that he was suddenly next to Q and pushing on his shoulder like they had when navigating the asteroid field.  It was reflex to respond even as James barked Q’s name in clear alarm, and as Q banked Glaurung hard to the right, there was immediately a shot fired right into the middle of their previous location.  Q started more evasive action from there, as the ships behind them started to fire off more shots.  The comm-link flashed angrily, and Q turned it on just to hear some more angry words.

“Well fuck,” James said, perhaps in a more breathless tone than before.  One of his hands was still on Q’s back, fingers lightly dimpling his shoulder blade as the only sign of the ex-Stormtrooper’s tension.  Q didn’t dare glance away from his own task to check whether or not Bond’s eyes were wild and bright.  “Any chance those latest messages were an apology?”

“Definitely not,” Q managed to reply.  He turned off the comm-link for good this time.  “They’ve made it clear that either we agree to be boarded or we agree to be blown to smithereens.”

“Charming.”  James removed his hand and swivelled his chair away, only to begin unbuckling his straps.  “I’m going up to the gunner’s nest.  I prefer having more options than those two.”

New panic fizzed through Q’s limbs and he snapped his head away from the controls long enough to snap, “Don’t shoot anything!”  He caught a vaguely belligerent, dangerous expression before turning away from James and back to the tricky task of flying at high speed while avoiding both enemy fire and space debris.  “I’m going to try something else.  I’ll take us down into the atmosphere.”  They had to go to Kalyk-5 anyway.  “If they want to having a pissing contest about who owns the space around Kalyk-5, we’ll see if they’re willing to defend their turf below orbit, too.”

“Are you sure that’s wise?”

The ship rocked as they narrowly avoided another shot, and the asteroid they’d ducked behind exploded.  “None of this is wise, James!” Q shouted back with mounting hysteria.  “Just get in the gunner’s nest and don’t do anything unless I say so!  I don’t want to start an international incident if I can help it.”  Another glance, another snapshot of James’ expression before the larger man turned towards the door.  “And don’t smile like that.  I don’t need to know that my plan is dangerous as fuck.”

James let out another one of those low, rolling laughs that somehow managed to do things to Q’s stomach despite the fact that he was panicked half out of his mind.  “Whatever you say, Captain,” James agreed, and Q was sure that the eager acquiescence was just because Q had ordered Bond to go sit closer to the action.  Q didn’t know much at all about Kalyk-5 politics, but he hoped that the Cithaerian Triumvirate wasn’t too important - because he was increasingly sure that they were not going to end this interaction as friends.  

Turning on the internal comms, Q called out, “Brace for potential turbulence.  I’m taking us lower.”  

“Don’t worry about me, Q.  I’m already good and cosy up here,” James’ voice came back with the usual minor static, although his playful tone was still entirely too clear, “A bit impatient, but cosy.”

“You keep your damn fingers off those damn triggers until I tell you otherwise.”

“You really are a bossy little thing when you get in that pilot’s seat, you know that?”

Q didn’t have time to respond because all of his attention was taken up by flying at that point - because this was when flying Glaurung got difficult.  

In the vacuum of outer space, the shape of a ship didn’t really matter all that much, and most ships were only minimally equipped to descend into a planet’s atmosphere - just enough for them to periodically land and take off.  They were like amphibious creatures, mostly equipped for the vast liquid of space, but technically capable of waddling awkwardly onto land with all of its gravitational pull of annoying air resistance.  Nebelung ships were different, though.  Built like a cross between a tear-drop and a bird, they were exquisitely made for handling wind resistance and the general turbulence of flight near a planet’s surface - the trade-off was immensely complicated controls.  Q thought back to his earlier metaphor for Eve fighting: like a falcon with every feather perfectly controlled for utmost precision and speed.  Now, as he tipped Glaurung down and tried to dodge bullets while also handling entry into Kalyk-5’s atmosphere, Q was putting all of his concentration into doing the same.  Glaurung was a bird of prey, and at her speed, having so much as one pinion out of alignment would turn their sleek racing into a deadly tumble.  

The tension made Q want to scream, even as his stomach jumped up into his throat and clouds started to flash around them.  The shots being fired at them reduced, however - their pursuers no doubt wary of shooting the planet’s surface.  

The real anxiety began when the other ships also dared to descend.  “Looks like they’re trying to call your bluff,” James’ voice came over the comms.

Fingertips shifting and spreading as he extended Glaorung’s wings to better catch the air and optimise the use of their engines, Q grumbled back, “I’d been hoping to just lose them in the cloud-cover.”

“You still might,” James said optimistically, “You’ll just have to be a lot faster to do it.”

“Faster I can do,” Q breathed, then put all of his focus into piloting as he really let the Nebelung ship loose.  She took off like a dart.  

Outpacing two ships was easier than outpacing their projectile weapons, and now that they were mostly level again, the shooting had resumed.  Glaurung ’s tear-drop-shaped body meant that she could bank and swivel with incredible grace, though, so long as Q remembered to tuck her wings in and employ the tail-flaps at the right angles.  He hadn’t even used the tail-flaps when they’d been in space, and almost bungled it now - a quick modulation of the engines kept them moving forward until he could recover.  James’ voice, sounding a bit breathless, was quick to start, “Now that was-”

“Do not tell me how dangerous that was!” Q cut him off, then banked the other way - rolling them over entirely three times, but flawlessly now.  The spray of shots missed them massively, and Q began to feel a bit of James’ excitement alongside the terror.  

Unfortunately, James chose then to speak over the comms again - this time less positively, “Trouble, Q.  Something coming in at your 2 o’clock.”

As always, James’ troubleseeker abilities were better than sensors; Q turned them away from that direction without confirming, but barely seconds later another ship was appearing on sensors.  Nebelung ships had sensors that were attuned to work just as well planetside as within the vacuum of space, but Kalyk-5 had enough atmospheric interference that Q found himself ridiculously grateful for his part-Shezarand companion.  The third attacker was clearly trying to cut them off, and might have succeeded if Q hadn’t reacted first, zipping to the side like a fish before sharks.  Q felt his anxiety mount, the thrill of the chase fading away again as the odds started mount against them.  Glaurung was wickedly fast and nimble, but she was one small ship against three who were native to the area.  Before long Q was using all of his focus and skills to keep them airborne and alive.  It was barely controlled chaos.  Whole body hunched over the controls, arms outstretched like he was a bird and his arms were tense and featherless wings, Q snarled out stunted expletives as he banked and rolled, doubling back when the three enemy ships coordinated to cut him off again.  This time when Q used the Force to pull one of the controls, momentarily cutting the engine to drop them right out from under a dangerously close volley, he was aware of what he’d done.  He’d think about his unconscious use of telekinesis later - and if they survived this unharmed, maybe he’d even celebrate.  Right now he was just grateful that he had enough limbs, physical and telekinetic, to handle a Nebelung ship.  They were like mercury, fluid and impossible to grab.   

And all the while James was warning Q of unseen dangers - and following Q’s orders of not opening fire.  

When Q finally spotted a place he thought they could hide - just past a city he could see to their starboard, a mass of rocky spires and canyons - he felt relief like a physical force.  “I’m going to head us into those rock formations!” Q called over the comms even as he dragged his fingers in against the thigmotropic controls and pulled their wings in tight to avoid them getting shot off by the latest strafing shots.  “They’re too big to follow, and right now I’d rather they besiege us in a castle of our own choosing than being slowly beaten to a pulp in the open air.”  If nothing else, it was close enough to the city that they could possibly stash Glaurung in the maze of rocks and canyons and sneak into the city on foot with no one the wiser.

“As much as I’m enjoying the rush of all this, I can't disagree,” James grunted back.  By his tone, he was perhaps finally getting frustrated with the situation - either the fact that he couldn’t shoot anyone and participate, or the constant movement.  Clearly Nebelung ships had phenomenal internal gravity and inertial dampeners, but seeing the world roll and zip had to make even the great JB-007 nauseous eventually.  “Think we can make it?”

“Sure we can,” Q said back with sarcastic laziness even as he struggled to regain altitude without also making himself an obvious target, “I just have to avoid these three rude buzzards that are swarming me like maggots on a particularly lively corpse.  Nothing to it.”

As usual, James found Q’s snark funny rather than insulting.  “That’s the spirit, Q.”

A  bit more seriously, as he saw the largest enemy ship changing course - looking like it had perhaps realised Glaurung’s ultimate destination - Q responded, “Get ready with those guns.  I still don’t want to shoot anyone down if I can help it, but…”

“We might not be able to help it?” James encouraged.  Bless him, he sounded like he was tamping down on his eagerness as best he could for his poor, pacifist Jedi comrade.  Even Q was having a hard time remembering some of his more peaceful Jedi tenants, and all he could think of was what they’d told Catchpenny - “If the other person is mean first, and clearly aren’t nice, then sometimes stabbing is very necessary.”  Shooting felt a bit more extreme than stabbing, especially when they didn’t know how dangerous it would be to fire upon a member of the Cithaerian Triumvirate.  

It sucked being the responsible one.

Instead of replying to James, Q put his focus back into flying, knowing that this was going to be the real test of his skills as a pilot.  He wanted to say something like “If we don’t get out of this in one piece, it was nice meeting you,” but he didn’t want to think about the outcome.  It was already fizzing like acid in the back of his mind, the impending danger if he did even one thing wrong.  That was the thing with ship battles, especially this close to the earth: the enemy didn’t have to destroy you if you made a mistake and did the job yourself.  

Q needed speed.  He leaned into the control again, aware that this was going to kill his back in the long run even as he flexed his shoulders and tensed his fingers; Glaurung’s wings flexed inwards and she became a bullet, barely keeping her tailfins and ‘flight feathers’ out enough to navigate.  Q swore colourfully as the two ships on his tail forced him to use evasive action instead of just heading straight for cover.  That third ship had no such issues, surging ahead while its compatriots slowed Q down and harried him.  It was already a miracle that they hadn’t been hit yet, and the only comfort Q took in that was that their enemies had to be swearing much more than he was every time they kept missing.  They’d probably come into this expecting it to be like the old adage ‘shooting fish in a bucket,’ but Nebelung ships were hellishly agile fish especially in this particular bucket.  It was obvious that the other ships had virtually zero manoeuvrability.

As Q came closer and closer to the third ship angling to cut them off, he realised that they’d have to depend on that.

It all happened too fast.  They had to act now, before the third ship turned to face them - but it was already ahead of them, in their way.  And the other two were still at an angle that they felt safe shooting without worrying about hitting each other.  Just as Q was about to instruct James to start shooting, the ex-Stormtrooper hollered instead, shouting for Q to bank to starboard.  Q sent them into a roll, earth and sky changing places rapidly in the view-screen; even Q had to just close his eyes.  

James was shouting again.  He sensed danger, but he couldn’t tell where to aim with them moving like this.  Q couldn’t stop the movement - not without getting them shot.

But Q could still sense the enemy ship through the force and his view from the cockpit was clearer than from the gunner’s seat, so he simply shouted coordinates and a resounding, unhesitant “NOW!” and hoped for the best.  He had to - because they were still moving forward, and if that third ship wasn’t shot out of the way, they were going to hit it.

There was a noise that split the air - an eerie, shrieking warble that Q would never be able to compare to anything even as the high-pitched noise was joined by a percussive, subsonic impact against his chest like thunder.  The ship ahead of them was fractured as a beam of red light like fire sheared a portion of it right off.  Glaurung sped through the newly created gap, smoke and left-over crackles of light shrouding her.  

“Fuck,” he heard James say faintly over the comms.

Q just kept flying, straight ahead now as their pursuers gave up in (presumably) shock.  Which was a good thing, because Q himself was dazed by the realisation that… he hadn’t actually said that last order out loud.  His jaw was still clenched from when he’d put the ship into that last barrel roll, and he knew that he hadn't had the words to tell James where to aim - not from an entirely different part of the ship, not while Q was already focusing his every molecule on just keeping them from being shot out of the sky.  Despite not having opened his mouth, though, James had shot perfectly true.

~^~

They managed to find a place to hide the ship within the maze of towering spires and canyons, the Nebelung manoeuvring without a whisper of effort now that they weren’t actively dodging anything or flying at a breakneck speed.  Their pursuit had disappeared for the time being - focusing on their downed ship, no doubt, but also perhaps because the little ship had shown she had a big bite.  

And James was still feeling the buzz of that high-like aftershocks through his system.  His sense of danger had plummeted in intensity almost the instant that Glaurung’s shot had made contact, but the spike in danger right before that had been enough to set James’ nerves on fire.  He wasn’t even entirely sure what kind of gun he’d just fired - like all of Glaurung , it was unique and impressive, although it reminded him of the condensed destructive force of a turbolazer.  But better.  Way fucking better.  James had felt the building of the charge like static all up his spine.  Unfortunately, all of this made it physically difficult for James to slow his heartbeat and calm down so that he and Q could have a serious talk.

He found the Jedi checking on Catchpenny - while Catchenny also tried to verify how Q was doing.  It was a bit comical, really, as both of them tried to be doctors and make the other the patient.  James just leaned up against the wall, watching and waiting his turn.  Catchpenny seemed to have weathered the wild ride very well, his usual glitches still in place as he utterly ignored Bond’s presence.  Really, Catchpenny’s concern for Q looked more warranted.  Q was pale and shaky, and overall looked exactly like one would expect from a pilot who had just played cat-and-mouse with three aggressive ships for almost thirty minutes.  Time had seemed to fly faster for James, but they’d been dodging enemy fire for quite a while, and it looked like Q had felt every second of it.

No doubt frazzled, it took a few minutes for Q to realise that their crew’s third member was standing behind him, especially without Catchpenny giving any indicators of the company.  When the boffin eventually did glance over his shoulder, his face blanched a bit more and Q saw a wincing look before Q quickly turned back to the droid again.  James was… reasonably sure what the look was all about.  After all, if James had noticed the voice in his head, Q had surely been cognizant of broadcasting it.  Too buzzed to be properly bothered, though, James just slouched a bit more comfortably, arms folded, while Q tried to wrap up a conversation with an android who had a pernickety neural processor.  

Catchpenny wouldn’t stop talking until he’d convinced Q to go eat his allotment of honey, even though Q stressed that his symptoms from the poisoning were pretty much gone.  In typical (and perhaps purposeful) Catchpenny form, the bedside-nurse-droid seemed not to hear those protests, and soon Q had the jar and a spoon in his hands.  Only then did Catchpenny look up, washed-out eyes taking in James with one slow blink.  “007,” he greeted pleasantly, for all the world unaware of what they’d just survived, “Are you also well?”

“I’m splendid,” James replied smoothly - and truthfully.  He didn’t mention that he could be bleeding out right now and he’d barely feel it, the high still clinging to his nerves.  This was what part-Shezarand died from - chasing a rush like this, and barely feeling it when their chase led them right into the jaws of destruction.

Perhaps because he had yet to consider James his patient, Catchpenny didn’t question that, and instead smiled politely and walked back towards the medbay.  

Leaving just James and Q standing across the hall from each other.

Q nervously popped a spoonful of honey in his mouth, and James tried not to watch too obviously as he did it.  Bond had always been down for bad decisions, but he knew that he was even more likely to do something impulsive at a time like this - and he had just enough sense left to know that jumping a Jedi would be fun only for a very, very brief moment of time.  He hadn’t figured Q out enough yet to know if Q would ‘jump him’ back, so the ex-Stormtrooper made a greater effort to hold onto his self-control and focus.  “So,” was all James opened with, raising one eyebrow.

Q winced again, and James was pretty sure it had nothing to do with any physical aches.  The Jedi, it seemed, had enough words for both of them, as he almost immediately blurted out, “Can we talk about this in private?  I imagine you want to yell at me, and I’d really rather Catchpenny not overhear and decide to either panic or defend me.”

His other eyebrow rising to join the first, James simply replied, “Fine by me,” and waited to see where Q would go with this.  

Looking like a mutt with its tail between its legs, Q turned and walked stiffly towards the ship’s kitchen.  Once they were both there, he closed and then locked the door, which James watched with mild interest.  He hadn’t honestly been sure how this conversation would go, but already Q was surprising him - more so when the boffin turned back to face him, looking absolutely miserable.  “I’m so sorry,” immediately fell out of Q’s mouth.  “Before you say anything, please know that that wasn’t intentional.  I…”  He waved the spoon fretfully as if to keep the silence under his control as he scrambled for more words while Bond watched.  “I didn’t even realise that I’d pushed words into your head until after!  I swear that I would never do that intentionally.”

Feeling a bit swarmed by Q’s words, especially since his mind was still floating comfortably on endorphins, James just let the explanations wash over him before responding, “So do you talk telepathically often?”

“Almost never!” Q rushed to defend, then backed up, sticking the spoon fretfully back into the jar and staring at its contents.  “Well, outside of Eve, almost never.  It was just the two of us travelling together for such a long time that I got used to a lot of talking and listening without words.”  Q gave his head a hard shake, closing his eyes as he asserted more firmly, “But that’s no excuse.  I already got into your head once and I said I wouldn’t do it again, but here I go-!”

“Q.”  James finally stepped forward, putting his hands on Q’s shoulders and feeling a pang of fond sadness as Q flinched and tensed beneath his hands.  Instead of letting go, James just gave Q’s upper arms a squeeze and leaned in a bit to say softly, “I’m not mad.”  When Q just frowned at him, nose wrinkling and brows beetling in consternation, James let slip some of the wild smile he’d been holding back for a while now.  “You used your Jedi sorcery to line me up for the best shot of my life, so trust me when I say that angry is the last thing I’m feeling right now.”

Understanding and suspicion replaced the other emotions on Q’s face, and he hazarded warily, “And what about after the high wears off and you regain your capacity to feel negative emotions?”

James chuckled and rolled his eyes at Q’s persistent pessimism.  He stepped away to the little table and sat down in one of its chairs, reaching out with one boot to yank another chair closer for Q.  “I suppose you have until then to explain exactly what you did then, don’t you?” he couldn’t help but tease.

Still clearly wound up like a bowstring, Q sighed and stared at the ceiling.  “Gods, I hate it when you’re like this,” he murmured, barely loud enough to hear, but then he gave in and walked over.  The honey was placed on the table and Q clasped his hands between his knees.  

“You look like a chastised student,” James observed with amusement.

Looking up from under his eyebrows, Q glared at him.  “That’s what I am, aren’t I?  Just a Jedi Padawan who’s once again lost control and done something stupid.”

“I’d hardly call it stupid since it got us out of there alive.”

“You’re saying that just because you’re genetically predisposed to loving dangerous situations, no matter how fucked up they are.”

“I’m also saying that because I like being alive,” James pointed out, and Q huffed again and looked away moodily.  James got his attention back by sticking out a leg and nudging at the Jedi’s ankle.  “Seriously, Q, just tell me what you did.  Beneath the haze of endorphins, I’m mostly just confused, because I don’t know much about this Jedi shit.”

Lifting a hand to rub it fretfully back through his hair, ruffling it hilariously, Q mumbled, “Fine then.  I suppose I was just thinking so hard about what needed to happen, but I was so overwhelmed already that I couldn’t find the time or the words, so my thoughts just… reached out to you.  You’re a very loud presence in the force, and it’s an easy connection for me.”

That made James feel unaccountably pleased with himself, despite having nothing to do with this.  He wasn’t sure if it was part of the lingering high either, or if he just liked the idea of Q saying that a certain ex-Stormtrooper stood out to him.

Q was looking at him now with a bit of curiosity filtering through the wariness and shame.  “What did it feel like to you?” he asked with all the hesitance of someone stepping out onto an unsteady branch.

Faced now with a serious question, it was James’ turn to look up at the ceiling, eyes focused on the middle distance as he tried to cast back in his thoughts without bogging down in the overwhelming rush of danger and impending doom.  He ended up shrugging.  “Mostly it was words, but some of it was just… intuition.  I had the thought fully-formed, right down to the exact angle of the shot and the second to pull the trigger.”  He dropped his head forward again to look at Q.  “Considering that everything was spinning too fast for me to see a bloody thing, it was nice to suddenly have clarity like that.”

Wringing his hands between his thighs again, Q still seemed torn about it all.  He said, “Sorry,” again as if he didn’t know what else to say but felt like he needed to speak.  

James was about to say that he honestly really didn’t mind Q in his head that much, especially now that he’d associated Q’s telepathic voice with one of the best shots of euphoria in his life, but suddenly there was a pinging coming through the comms.  “Incoming signal,” Q said sharply, instantly getting to his feet.  He still moved stiffly, but his body language showed that he was on high alert again, efficient and functional.  James followed suit, his own focus balancing out the humming warmth still in his veins.  

“How much you want to bet it’s from our Triumvirate friends?”

“If it is, I’m not sure how they’ve found out.  Our signal should be completely hidden,” Q said even as he led them both back to the cockpit.  “What does your troubleseeker sense say?”

“Surprisingly little,” James admitted.  When Q looked at him in bemusement, Bond tried to translate what he was feeling a bit more clearly, “I don’t think they’ve found us.  If they had, I’d have metaphorical alarm bells ringing like mad in my head, and I don’t.”

Fingers moving over the controls before he’d even sat down in the pilot’s seat, Q confirmed, “It’s a general signal.  They’re transmitting it on all frequencies within range.”

“Can they find us if we answer?” James asked.  Q knew more about the Nebelung ship than he did, having dug through her systems frequently during any downtime they got.

That got a small, grimly proud smile to just barely curl up the corners of Q’s mouth.  “No chance.  So I guess there’s no reason not to hear what they have to say.”  When James didn’t argue, Q flicked on the comms, and immediately the gravelly tones of the same alien language as before spilt into the room.  They spoke for a while, then there was a pause, and then presumably the message repeated because Q shut it off a moment later.  

Then for a long moment after that, Q sat very still, looking pale and nervous again.  

Still standing, James came closer so that he could place a hand on Q’s shoulder.  This time the tension he felt there wasn’t due to him - so it had to be because of the message.  “What did they say?”

“They said that we killed a high chancellor of the Cithaerian Triumvirate, and that entitles us to all of his wealth and holdings,” Q said a bit numbly, “They want to meet up and speak to the captain of this ship, under a banner of peace.  As his replacement.”  Turning to stare up at James with wild, bewildered eyes, Q finished robotically, “Failure to show ourselves at the given location will be seen as a great offence, and they’ve made it clear that they’ll hunt us to the end of our days as enemies if that’s the route we choose to take.”

James didn’t need his troubleseeker sense to know that they’d just walked into a whole new wave of trouble

~^~

Chapter Text

Q wasn’t even sure how to handle the emotional turbulence at this point, and just decided to go with the flow.  Even if he ignored the heights of adrenaline and terror that had come from flying them through the day’s aerial dogfight, there was still the shock and fear and shame to contend with from realising that he’d invaded James’ mind without asking - only to have those emotions tipped on their ear when it turned out that James, at least for the moment, did not mind.  So now as the threatening demands sank in, he wasn’t sure he had any emotions left to feel. 

Sagging back in his chair, Q rubbed his hands over his face and wished desperately for a nap.  

“Well,” Bond said, for once sounding like the danger wasn’t turning him on; Q almost wished it was.  Then at least one of them would be enjoying this new tizzy they’d tangled themselves up in.  “They sure do lay out opposite options, don’t they?”

“And we can’t really live with either one of them,” Q grumbled into his hands, “We’ve already got too many people chasing us and can’t afford to add more to the list, but we sure as all hells can’t just waltz into this meeting and claim our prize.”

Instead of agreeing, there was a very worrisome silence from James.  Q peaked out through his fingers, and immediately scowled when he saw the ex-Stormtrooper’s contemplative expression.  “No!” Q said, as sternly as possible.

“I didn’t even say anything!”

“Then what were you going to say?” Q challenged, dropping his hands just to fold his arms, swivelling the pilot’s seat to face James squarely.  

To his credit, James had the decency to look away guiltily.  It would have been adorable to watch the ex-soldier shift from foot to foot like a child if Q hadn’t already been through the wringer today, with no end to the turmoil in sight.  “I was going to say that the second option might be doable.”

Q heaved a sigh and flopped his head back against the headrest.  “You just like that idea because it’s the most dangerous,” he accused.

For once, James shook his head and argued, “Honestly, they’re equally dangerous - but at least this way, we face the danger head-on instead of waiting for it to shoot us in the arse at an undetermined later date.  So I say we go to this meeting.”

At least James was saying ‘we.’  “You can’t even speak their language.”

“But you can.” James shrugged, settling into the copilot’s seat and stretching his legs out.  He looked entirely too calm and sensible.  “So you do the talking.”

Panic was starting to become Q’s dominant emotion, bubbling up and licking at his hindbrain.  “But I don’t know how to talk to… whoever they are!” Q hissed, waving his hands as if that could somehow further explain just how stupid a plan this was.  If you could even call it a plan.  

Another shrug.  “They sound like a gang.  If you haven’t heard of them in regard to Kalyk-5 before, then they’re probably not part of the official government, but still clearly have some power - so perhaps a pretty big gang.”

“See - you already know more about them than me,” Q huffed, feeling inadequate.  He folded his arms up again and shrunk into the chair, now swivelling it to stare out the viewscreen at nothing.  “Maybe you can pretend to be the one in charge and I’ll just be your lowly translator.  You’re the one who shot their high chancellor anyway.”

“You and I both know that that was a joint effort,” James chastised, nudging Q’s ankle with a boot.  Q gave him a childish little snarl in return, but Bond simply pressed, “And I’ve dealt with territorial bullies like this before.  They’re clearly impatient, and having to deal with a translator is going to just make things more dangerous.”  Since usually James was running into danger instead of counselling against it, Q turned back to look at him, frowning but curious.  Bond had clasped his hands over his stomach and continued speaking in a candid tone, “It will frustrate them and it’ll weaken my position.  If I’m constantly having to look to you for a translation, I’ll have to hesitate before every response, and that in turn is going to make me look hesitant.”  One broad shoulder lifted and dropped.  “I could be misreading the situation entirely, but if I know anything, it’s opponents - and that’s what I expect to get from this Cithaerian Triumvirate based on our encounters thus far.”

Q couldn’t find fault in James’ logic, and was honestly rather impressed.  He knew that James had had rather more training than the average Stormtrooper, but it was still eye-opening to get a glimpse into how the man’s mind worked when he wasn’t simply focused on physical action.  “That leaves us where we were before, though,” Q nonetheless had to caution, feeling small again as he was forced to remind, “I may be able to understand and speak back, but that doesn’t mean I won’t hesitate - and it certainly doesn’t mean I’ll know what to say even after I hesitate.  You clearly know how to deal with people like this better than I do.”

While Q was feeling defeated and ill-equipped, however… James was starting to smile.  “Oh, I think I have a way to work around that.”  He leaned forward, settling his elbows on his knees and leaning closer to his Jedi companion.  “Just how good are you at mindreading, and how long can you keep it up?”

~^~

“James, there is no way that this can work!”

Catchpenny had been informed of their plan in the loosest sense and told to stay behind with the ship, and not to let anyone in but James and Q.  At this point, Q was just hoping that either of them made it back alive to Catchpenny at all, but he hadn’t wanted to scare the little droid by saying so.  James, of course, was maddeningly calm about the whole thing, even as he dragged Q into their shared sleeping quarters to change clothes.  Apparently if Q was going to play the role of a ruthlessly skilled pilot and James his bodyguard (Bond’s idea), he needed to look less like an adorably bookish hairball (Bond’s words) and more like at least a mercenary.  

Having already bullied Q into basically the same clothing Q had been wearing when James had first captured him what felt like so long ago, James stepped back and put his hands on his hips, surveying his handiwork.  “Stop being such a pessimist,” he admonished absently before stepping forward and grasping the edges of Q’s cowl.  He dragged it up over Q’s head, frowned as he apparently decided the boffin either looked too ridiculous that way or too intimidating, and let it fall back down again.  Q was about to spit back a retort when the blond-haired man then pushed fingers into the mop of Q’s hair, straightening the ruffled strands with heavy, unabashed strokes of his fingers.  The touch was so unexpected that Q just stood dumbfounded, his brain temporarily ceasing to function as sparks of sensation lit up his scalp.  

James, seemingly oblivious to the reaction his hair-straightening was inducing, went on, “Think of it as playing to your strengths.  You’ve made very clear that you’re not a combative sort of Jedi, so we’re avoiding a fight.”  Having set Q’s hair to rights (but his mind and possibly his heart into chaos), James withdrew his hands again, this time to cross them contemplatively over his chest.  James himself was dressed like any other rogue space-trader Q could think of, although the white shirt under his tough, open canvas jacket pulled distractingly taught over his chest as he moved now - and why was Q only noticing this right now, when he should have stayed focused on freaking out over using telepathy in a hostile situation?  “We’re doing this the smart way instead.  Brains over brawn,” James finished with a proud smile, like he was belatedly giving Q something that he’d been wanting for ages.

Q pulled his thoughts together enough to glare at his companion.  “If this goes wrong, it’s not going to be brains over brawn for long.”

Broad shoulders lifted and dropped unconcernedly.  “And that’s why I’ll be there.”

Huffing as he dropped that avenue of argument, Q fussed with his own clothing a bit and tried something else, “And using telepathy is not ‘playing to my strengths’ - you’re conveniently forgetting that the last time I did that, it was an accident.”

“And the time before that?”

Cheeks flushing as he remembered, Q avoided eye contact and grumbled mostly into the front of his cowl, “That shouldn’t have happened.”

“Hey.”  Rough fingertips slipped under Q’s chin, the unexpectedness of it getting him to raise his head up as much as anything.  The young Jedi found himself looking at frank blue eyes devoid of playfulness for once.  “It really is something I think you’re good at, Q.  And I don’t know how many times or ways I can say it, but I’m giving you explicit permission to be in my head.”

James had in fact giving Q more or less carte blanche permission to be in his head, which still baffled Q beyond belief; even now he searched James’ face or waited for him to add stipulations onto the end of his sentence.  But no: whatever it was that made James crave danger and get a high from being around Q, a Jedi, at his worst apparently also made James eager for (rather than afraid of) having Q taking up telepathic residence in his head.  “It will probably give us both a helluva headache before long, you know,” Q cautioned, but he’d already given up the argument and his voice was a resigned sigh.  His shoulders sagged even as James’ hands moved to rest on them.  “You most of all.  Psyches aren’t meant to put up with interlopers.”

“I’m sure I’ll manage.  I took painkillers preemptively just in case.”  Bond flashed a lopsided smile before turning and heading towards the door.  “You’ve got two minutes to say goodbye to your lightsaber and kennel it - or whatever it is you Jedi do when you have to leave your weapons behind.  Then we’ve got to leave.”

“Bastard,” Q muttered, rolling his eyes.  The joking helped distract him from his unease, however, as he was forced to leave his lightsaber behind.  He and James were already risking a lot, but the one thing they could not risk was someone seeing Q’s lightsaber and realising that the killer of the high chancellor of the Cithaerian Triumvirate was a Jedi on the run.

~^~

The plan was for Q to act as a coldly efficient captain with a muscly but silent bodyguard, a tactic that would allow Q to be seemingly in charge and do the talking - while Bond remained present as a physical threat.  What the Cithaerians wouldn’t know, though, was that the real reason James needed to be there was because Q would be in his head constantly, telepathically translating what the Cithaerians were saying and listening for James’ thoughts in response.  It was literally a case of ‘two heads are better than one’... if Q could pull it off without giving one or both of them an aneurism, and while maintaining a facade of collected calm.  Honestly, Q still wanted them to switch seats: James in charge, Q sitting off to the side and playing translator, but Bond had been insistent on them playing it this way.

“Even discounting everything else,” James talked over Q in their last hushed, angrily whispered argument as they snuck out of their hiding place within the canyons, “this way, we have one advantage that we need .”

Sighing and stretching his senses out through the Force, having been given directions to the meeting place but also a warning that they’d have escorts, Q responded tiredly, “And what advantage is that?”

James tugged Q’s arm, pulling him not only to a stop but pulling him around so that they were facing each other.  The ex-Stormtrooper wasn’t smiling, but his eyes were bright and intense and Q couldn’t look away from them even as Bond paused before saying very seriously, “They will underestimate you.  In fact, at worst, they simply won’t know what to make of you.”  Something in Bond’s voice was so sincere, so almost-fond, as he said this that Q felt his heart constricting in his chest.  James’ mouth quirked up just slightly on one side, adding more warmth to his pale blue eyes.  “When I step into a room and people realise I’m the one in charge, they expect trouble - usually of the physically violent kind.  And they’re not necessarily wrong.  But you?”  He ruffled Q’s hair without warning, triggering a yelp and a huff of annoyance as the smaller man tried - too late - to duck away.  “I can guarantee that whatever they expect, it’ll be less than what you’re capable of.”

Q narrowed his eyes, still trying to flatten down his hair again.  “I’m not sure if you’re insulting or complimenting me.”

With a bark of a laugh, James turned to get them walking again.  “The latter, you brat.”

~^~

At least the Cithaerian Triumvirate were true to their word: it was not a trap, and instead James and Q were greeted by guards as they reached the given location.  Q sensed them coming before James, which was a good sign, because simply sensing someone through the Force was much less foreboding than having a troubleseeker snap suddenly to attention.  They were meeting in what looked like a mobile bubble-tent, two grim-faced guards backing away as the door was briefly unsealed to let them in.  Once inside, the arid landscape and bright sun was cut out, leaving instead a shockingly modern-looking dome with white walls and an efficient-looking plexi-table stretched across a rectangular frame before them.  Already sitting at the table, on the far side, was what looked like a human and a male Twi’lek.  

Already nervous, it was all too easy to slip into James’ head - as planned.  Q was surprised to already feel the man thinking some very clear thoughts at him: ‘ Say nothing.  They’re already sitting and looking pretty comfortable at the head of the table.  Methinks they might not be entirely eager to hand over the dearly departed high chancellor’s power to you .’

Resisting the urge to nod and show that he’d heard, he instead acknowledged the tip by striding in… and sitting down at the table as confidently as possible.  James sat down at his left hand.  

The silence stretched for a moment, and it would have surely been uncomfortable had not Q been basking in the sense of James’ approval.  If he’d been panicking less and more free to focus on telepathically talking back, he’d have been screaming, ‘ Am I doing this right?!’   Luckily James was already telling him that he was, the reassurance so clear that James may as well have put a hand on his shoulder.

It was ultimately the Cithaerian Triumvirate - or perhaps just Duumvirate now - that broke first.  The human male gave his throat a clear and spoke in the little known trade-language they’d been using thus far, “Thank you for meeting with us, to discuss the handling of this situation.”  Q translated without thinking, letting James know what was said without any indication that one of them didn’t speak the language.

‘ Ah, so they do want to negotiate ,’ James’ commentary was a welcome sound to Q’s listening telepathic ear, ‘ So much for them just signing everything over to you. ’  Which was probably for the best, as Q had no interest in the dead High Chancellor’s wealth and holdings, nor in having a seat in this triumvirate.  James didn’t move, but his mental voice was pointed as he went on, trusting Q to hear, ‘ Tell them that you thought the resolution was already clear - after all, they promised you quite a bit, didn’t they?  No need to give them the sense that you can be pushed around .’

Despite feeling very, very ready to be pushed around if it meant getting out of this situation, Q reminded himself to sit up straight and did exactly as James said.  And just like that, a delicate negotiation began.  

It became clear that the two Triumvirate members before them were balancing two urges: the desire to follow whatever ingrained customs demanded they give the spoils of combat to a more powerful foe… and the desire to take those spoils for themselves, especially now that they’d seen who the newcomer was.  James had already confirmed, ‘ They’re definitely looking at you like they’re trying to fit you for a space-coffin ,’ which had nearly caused Q to jump out of his chair.  Luckily, the ex-Stormtrooper had added, ‘ But they’re not really looking at me either. That’s a good sign.  They don’t see me as a puppetmaster, and that’s confusing the fuck out of them .’

Since Q knew that James sort of was the puppetmaster in this situation, he wasn’t fully reassured, but James continued to tell him what to say, and it was clear that the blond-haired man had a keen eye for body language no matter the species.  He also kept sending little recommendations like, ‘ Keep staring at the Twi-lek.  It sounds like he’s the pushiest of the two, and you’ve got a fucking mean glare when you try - yes, that’s the one.  The frosty one .’  Q was at least glad that James had been paying attention all those times Q had mean-mugged him, even if only to take notes, apparently.  With Q mentally translating and listening to James’ recommendations, however, and soon getting a feel for the situation on his own, however, he felt his anxiety fading into the background and something closer to calm settling around him.  It was almost like a meditation, or like training with Eve - something that oftentimes was a bit of a shit-show, but Q could feel the Force like a steadying, reassuring hum around him now that he quieted his mind enough to hear it.  This situation could explode at any minute, yes, but he’d also had thousands of opportunities to cut off his own foot with his lightsaber in the past, and he hadn’t made a mistake like that yet.

‘ You’re doing good, Q .’  James seemed to believe in him, too.  

As the discussions got more intense - less dancing around the topic and more blunt arguing, starting to verge on veiled threats - Q was able to take over more, albeit with some of his focus always on James.  As anticipated, he was starting to get a niggling little headache from the strain of keeping the telepathic pathway open, and it was fueling his frustration as the Twi-lek in particular started to get a bit snotty with him.  All Q wanted from this was a way to leave without being seen as weak, since James had already made clear that that was the most dangerous outcome to avoid, but the Twi-lek was making it hard for Q to find a gracious way to say ‘ Keep your shit, we don’t want any of it .’  Q had been trained as a Jedi to not let his emotions get the better of him, but his ‘frosty’ glare was on full-blast now, and he’d braced both hands on the table at some point, palms flat and fingers spread as he resisted the urge to physically call upon the Force.

James, who had been listening passively and letting Q direct the last bit of discussion, suddenly realized something; Q felt it through the telepathic bridge between them.  It wasn’t words this time, just a spark of emotion and sensation.  It was enough for Q to send a wordless question back, although he was in the midst of a heated (and barely polite) argument at the moment.  Through the Force, Q could still sense James’ confidence and calm, which was enough to keep him from panicking and losing his focus on the spoken conversation.  Worrisomely, though, somewhere amidst the confidence and calm was a hot little crackle of something like eagerness… and maybe excitement.  

‘ Don’t move, Q, ’ was the only warning Q got before James, with nary a change in expression or flicker of hesitation, flicked out a knife.

If Q hadn’t been so rigorously trained by Eve to control every muscle in his body (necessary when wielding a plasma blade capable of cutting through durasteel while weighing practically nothing), he would have failed spectacularly at following James’ command.  Instead, he reacted much as he usually did when faced by Eve’s lightsaber, and refused to let his body twitch even as the two across the table flinched rather alarmingly.  Before Q could lament that James had given in to his trouble-seeker tendencies and had made a move that would start a brawl, though, the ex-Stormtrooper began to merely tap the blade’s tip idly on the table.  It made a muffled, thudding tap against the plexi-table.  ‘ Keep talking - don’t stop ,’ James urged, ‘ Ignore me like this means nothing at all to you .’

Fighting the urge to gulp audibly and grateful that Jedi calming exercises could be done without outward signs (although gods-knew he was already splitting his attention dangerously), Q did as he was told and kept talking as if his companion were not currently making little dents in the table.  Pretending that he was just meditating with Eve, showing that he could be master of his body and emotions even while she was asking him to do handstands, Q kept talking and making his case.  

Meanwhile, the Triumvirate leaders were clearly unsettled.  It took them a moment to fully engage with the conversation again, although Q noted that neither of them actually spoke up to ask James to stop.  ‘ Because that would mean admitting that I’m scaring them ,’ James answered Q’s thoughts, his smugness clear.  Understanding flushed through Q like a physical wave, settling him further.  

‘ Keep making your point, Q ,’ James advised, ‘ That human bastard is starting to listen, and I’m going to make that Twi-lek realize that he should be grateful for the grace you’re offering to show them .’  Q had been working his way towards ‘benevolently’ offering to let them continue ruling on their own, although that was hard to do without coming across as a pompous blowhard with more hubris than power.  It seemed that Bond’s casual show of violent support had done some good, but Q didn’t think it would be enough.

But Bond wasn’t done yet.  

Q’s hand were still splayed on the table.  He rather regularly felt the urge to Force-choke Bond, but now the desire to do so was close to making his fingers twitch, and he could all but hear Eve’s lecture in his head.  Good little Jedi did not go around using the Force to choke people willy-nilly…  Now, though, James shifted his own hand until suddenly the knife-tip began dancing between Q’s spread fingers.  ‘ Don’t move and don’t react ,’ James immediately reminded him, but by the Force, that was a much taller order now.  Q was glad that he’d already affected a stiff, prim posture, because he felt his whole body tense up at the nearness of the blade.  Thud thud thud .  It tapped between each finger.  Q felt sweat beading down his back in alarm as, out of the corner of his eye, he saw how very little space there was for the knife to land without hitting a finger instead…

‘ Come on, Q, surely this isn’t the most danger you’ve been in ,’ James chided.

‘ That’s easy for you to say - you’re on the other end of the knife! ’  Inwardly, Q was panicking; outwardly he was somehow managing to keep his eyes forward and words coming out of his mouth in a regular fashion. 

Unperturbed and starting to sound damnably amused, James replied, ‘ You’ve been in way worse just in our time together .’

‘ Which says something about the sorts of things you get me into, doesn’t it? ’ Q hissed back telepathically, feeling how the force of his words increased his slow-growing headache - he hoped James felt it, too, the bastard.  Again - not very Jedi of him, but despite all that Eve had told him about anger and the Dark Side, he allowed himself that little coal of temper because it was better than being scared witless.  He imagined taking that knife and poke-poke-poking it into James to see how he liked the threat, not caring if the visuals translated through the telepathic link, and focused on the Cithaerian Triumvirate… who looked deeply unsettled, to give credit to where it was due.  James’ actions were not all for fun, and while Q was contemplating stabbing the man, the Triumvirate members were looking at the two newcomers as if they feared they’d underestimated them.  

The knife danced closer to Q’s index finger, then his thumb.  He fought the urge again to defend himself, having to repeat that James was not the enemy - and apparently quite good with that knife.  It hadn’t cut him yet.  ‘ I’m going to murder him for this later ,’ he thought to himself - or hopefully to himself.  Either way, James never lost the rhythm of his movements, his game persisting without a hitch.  The human and Twi-like across the table looked disturbed now, as Q continued to just glare at them while leaving his left hand in constant peril.  Maybe that was why, when Q next pushed his agenda, they didn’t immediately counter it, but instead broke-character a little to exchange worried glances.  

Q used the opportunity to do the same, risking a sharp look Bond’s way.  He immediately regretted it, because all it took was a glance for him to remember that he was not just dealing with James Bond, member of MI6 and ex-Stormtrooper - he was dealing with a part-Shezarand.  All this while Q had been thinking about the many ways in which he wanted to thrash Bond within an inch of his life, and James’ trouble-sense had taken that in like a drug.  The man’s pale blue eyes were afire with wicked delight; he was failing to completely hold back a smile.  It probably had affected the current tableau, Q realized: James looked like a maniac, like he’d do anything… which was probably correct, because if Q understand part-Shezarand’s correctly, James was borderline high as fuck.  

That combined picture - Q, stiffly calm and immovably focused, unsettlingly competent as he kept saying all the right words, and his smirking bodyguard with his knife-game and his dangerously eager blue eyes - was probably what sealed the deal.  It did not take very much longer for Q to convince the Triumvirate that he was too powerful and too important (lies upon lies) to need their dead high chancellor’s wealth, and too busy to become part of their Triumvirate.  And they seemed very thankful indeed when they finally got to (politely) usher James and Q out of the tent to allow everyone to return to their lives in one piece.  The relief of having gotten out of this situation was so great that Q’s telepathic link to James more or less crumbled instantly - but by then he and the ex-Stormtrooper were being escorted away.  “Come on,” Q said, hushed and urgent the second it looked like their escort was falling back.  He grabbed James’ arm, pulling him around an outcropping.  James followed without a word, as if the link were still active and he was still sensing what Q needed.  For his part, Q’s heart was in his throat as he waited for everything to go wrong at the last second - but no: he managed to weave them through some of the other outcroppings, taking a more circuitous path away from the Cithaerian Triumvirate’s camp.  They were still a ways from the ship, but fifteen minutes later and at least Q was sure that they were in the clear.

“I’m sorry,” he panted, breathless less from the darting and dashing and more from the fading adrenaline and anxiety, “I just didn’t want them to follow us - you know, in case they were still sore about it all-”

Q had just pulled James behind an outcropping, shaded from the sun to the point that the temperature felt like it dropped a whole ten degrees.  It heated right back up, though, as James slid right past Q’s tugging hand and gripped the Jedi’s shoulders, pushing him back against the stoneface.  Q opened his mouth (to protest, to ask what was wrong, he wasn’t quite sure) but didn’t get a chance to say anything before James was leaning in and pressing their mouths together with a hungry, heated sound.  Q didn’t have time to react, mostly just a receiver to the kiss, and James pulled back a few centimeters before the Jedi could think to either respond or retaliate.  Bond didn’t back off far, though, leaving Q staring into eyes that burned like the hottest blue flames, pupils wide and dilated despite the sun brightly shining down beyond the overhang.  James’ breath felt like wind over a fire as it ricocheted off Q’s mouth, his words fervant and carrying a rougher rasp over its usual rumble, “Bloody hell, Q, you have no idea how fucking hot that was.”  Q’s brain abruptly went off-line trying to process that.  Bond took advantage of the quiet to press his body in closer, exhaling through his nose as if trying to calm himself down even as he nuzzled a stubbled cheek against Q’s as if he couldn’t help it; his hands moved from Q’s shoulders, only so they could splay against the strong wall, his broad torso becoming all that Q could see.  

While Q’s beleaguered brain belatedly offered up the reminder that he was dealing with a part-Shezarand here, while the majority of Q’s focus fled his cranium entirely, Q’s pressed his lips and then his tongue against Q’s ear, a brief and questing touch that had Q sucking in a breath and quivering down to his boots.  “Let me show you,” James offered - or maybe begged, something desperate and hungry in his voice, before it dropped another octave into something positively wicked, “at least a taste of the high you give me.”

Chapter Text

The next thing Q knew, Bond was pressing blunt teeth against the edge of his jaw, a simple thing that seemed to have all of his nerve-endings sparking.  He gripped Bond’s shoulders and gasped, open-mouthed in surprise.  James prosthetic shoulder felt like stone beneath his grip; the other flex even as James moved on from Q’s jaw to his throat, next burrowing his face past Q’s cowl to scrape his teeth against the tense tendons of Q’s neck, insatiable.  Q had seen what James was like with a lightsaber in his hands, the brightness in his eyes - or how he’d seemed on the verge of leaning into Catchpenny’s knife just to feel the danger pressing more viscerally into him, when the droid had gotten confused and thought him a threat.  This was all of that and more.  Q didn’t think he’d ever seen James this wildly alive .  

No doubt leaving teeth-prints on Q’s neck, James disengaged only to drop smoothly to his knees.  Q was still trying to catch up with everything and therefore could just lean back against the flat planes of rock behind him, staring down stupidly and wondering just when he’d started panting - his breather should have been slowing down now that they’d stopped, but his heart was racing in his chest.  It felt like it skipped a beat as James spread one hand across his navel and pushed upwards, rucking up Q’s shirt and untucking it even as James’ other hand - the prosthetic one, Q realized, powerful but humble even as James’ other hand was alive and almost shockingly warm as it found skin - began swiftly undoing his trousers.  There was a moment where Q knew that he could have told James to back off or, hell, he could have hit him smack in the face with the Force, but Bond looked up at him then with that heated, hungry expression and suddenly Q forgot every language he knew.  He sucked in a shaky breath instead of speaking, and just groaned and closed his eyes when he saw James’ mouth curve in a wicked grin in return.  

Pressing his head back against the rock behind him, Q salvaged just enough coherent thought to grit out, “I’m going to regret this, aren’t I?”  He revised to open his eyes because Bond was about to pull his trousers down and find out how disastrously hard Q had gotten in a shockingly short amount of time.  

Cool air kissed Q’s skin - and indeed, his cock - as James pulled his pants and trousers down to his knees in one strong tug.  The chill was replaced by heat again and Q gasped as James’ breath cascaded over his cockhead, “I’ll make sure you don’t.”  The promise was sealed by a kiss to the tip of Q’s cock, and that was the last demure thing that James did for the rest of the encounter.  

The noise Q made would have been obscene had not the influx of sensations nearly choked him, body locking up; he nearly swallowed his tongue in time to James swallowing him.  Clearly, Stormtroopers were not celebate, or at least James hadn’t been.  It seemed as though he’d learned an awful lot in the First Order barracks, a whole lot more than Q was used to, travelling with Eve and barely having time to jack off, much less find a body to mess around with.  Q had somehow never imagined James as someone who’d suck cock, too fixated on the domineering nature of the man, but it was clear by the way the ex-Stormtrooper took Q all the way down almost instantly that he fully intended to control this scene from any position he chose.  There was something about going from a tense, dangerous situation - after having spent months, at least, with his thoughts on survival rather than pleasure - to this hedonistic moment that had Q rocketing right to the edge embarrassingly quickly.  He pressed a fist to his mouth to muffle a strangled noise even as he tried to contain his own orgasm, saved only by James apparently noticing something and backing off - although not before Q felt the vibration that would become a chuckle once James withdrew.  The ex-Stormtrooper’s eyes were bright and he said, in a voice made noticeably husky from what he’d just been doing, “Been a bit, has it?”

One arm still up near his face and his dick still out, Q glared down at the man and sniped, “You realize that I could choke you with just a thought, right?”

Too late, Q realized his mistake as Bond’s blue eyes flashed and his grin broadened to show teeth.  He moved his prosthetic hand to the base of Q’s cock, the cooler temperature of his non-living hand giving Q enough of a shock that he failed to answer - in contrast, James nuzzled against the head much as he’d… well… nuzzled against Q’s more northerly head earlier.  The light friction of stubble had Q scrambling to stifle yet another noise, even as James just watched him with all the electric focus of a crackling livewire.  “Promises, promises,” the man murmured, before going down on Q again, this time with just enough pressure from his prosthetic hand to keep Q’s climax confused and at bay.  

The need to cover his mouth warred with the need to keep his balance as his thighs started quivering, the sensations not only building but spreading.  James kept pulling off now, which did give Q enough of a reprieve that he didn’t feel in danger of going off like a teenage virgin, but the man was also relentless, and soon Q was leaning back against the rocks behind him to stay upright and didn’t know what to do with his hands.  

All the while, intoxicating (and possibly intoxi cated , if Q understood part-Shezarand right) blue eyes watched him.  That alone was almost too much, even if James’ mouth wasn’t already on the verge of destroying him.

“James… James-!” Q started panting.  After a beat he realized that he’d lost his train of thought and was just saying the man’s name, and he forced his thoughts back in order - a task made difficult as James squeezed the base of his cock and then released the pressure to run one slightly-cooler-than-normal thumb back and forth against the underside of Q’s cock.  Q finally gave in to the urge to grab at James’ hair just to push him back a bit, managing to get out, “What if we were still followed?  What if we-?”

“Shhh, Q,” James said, in that terribly not reassuring calm tone that he got whenever things were on the verge of chaos.  His flesh-and-blood hand had been curled around Q and pressed to the small of his back, but now it slid forward past Q’s bare hip again to grab his hand.  “I can sense incoming danger and you can literally sense people through the living Force.  Between us, we’ll know something’s coming before it reaches us.”  Q wanted to say something about James having entirely too much faith in Q’s Jedi senses while being sucked off, but James’ smile turned mischievous and he went on, grip tightening around Q’s wrist, “My plan was to make you fly as high as you’ve had me feeling, and keep you there until danger comes - then I promise to get you off before it arrives.”

“No, James, that is not -!” Q’s protest devolved into a wordless garbled noise as Bond deep-throated him again, throat vibrating with a hum that went straight to Q’s core and set all of his nerves alight.  Q did his best to brace himself, resigning himself to the task of trying to keep an eye out while James tried to take him apart.  

James wasn’t going to make it easy, though.  Even as Q tried to actively stay focused while being swamped with sensations, James took the wrist trapped in his grasp and drew it closer to himself.  At the same time that he swallowed Q down to the root again, he pressed Q’s hand up against his cheek and neck, and Q once again lost his ability to think as he all but felt his own cock going down James’ throat, filling his mouth.  Bond was in no position to smile, but his eyes nonetheless looked smug as Q’s jaw dropped.  Now that Q was looking, he just couldn’t look away now.  

Mouth still full (throat still full, bobbing in and out beneath Q’s fingertips), James tipped his head slightly in what might have been an approving nod, and then he showed that he’d only been getting started.

Assuming (correctly) that Q would keep his hand where it was, James returned his right hand to the small of Q’s back, but this time his grip was firm.  His prosthetic hand moved from the base of Q’s cock to curving against his hip-bone, and Q had to count his own breaths to center himself as he was reminded yet again that the prosthetic hand was just a bit cooler than a human should have been - heated only by its own internal workings and, to Q’s great distraction, Q’s own body that it was now gripping so tightly.  It wasn’t enough to bruise, but it was enough to give Q a taste of the power behind the synthetic limb, even as James began using both of his grips to control the pace.  Before, Q had been trying this best to be polite, occasionally failing to hold back a shudder of his hips, a quick jerk of his body as the pleasure became too much.  Now he suddenly lost that ability, James shifting closer and the muscles of his arms and shoulders bunching as he held Q just as he wanted him.  

Hobbled by his own trousers and with his body held now in an unrelenting grip, Q had a jolt of realization that he was indeed going to just have to take whatever James gave him - and, as promised, the ex-Stormtrooper seemed determined to send Q flying through the stratosphere more efficiently than a Nebelung ship.  

Alternating now between deep-throating Q’s cock and pulling back to focus on just the sensitive head, James was perhaps trying to avoid passing out from lack of air but ultimately just served to drive Q swiftly insane.  Any attempts at holding himself together were out the window now; Q truly hoped that he’d successfully lost any potential tails following them.  He was definitely calling on the Force, true, but it was only to telekinetically kick up the sand around them in random flurries, or at one point to actually grasp at James.  He wasn’t even sure what he did, but he knew Bond registered it - and liked it - because the man groaned around his cock and Q in turn let out a strangled cry of his own.  Bond’s left hand moved down to squeeze one of Q’s buttocks, perhaps in encouragement, although as he pulled Q forward it seemed purely for the purpose of spearing himself further on Q’s cock.  Out there in the middle of nowhere, Q keened and grasped wildly at the man kneeling in front of him, sometimes losing track between what he was grasping with his hands versus the Force: James’ hair, growing sweaty in the warm again, the strength of his arms as they flexed, the prosthetic one such a harsh feeling even as James’ real arm flexed to iron tautness as he moved Q to his liking.  It was a miracle that Q held on as long as he did, even with James periodically driving him crazy by pulling off or slowing his pace at the last second, but when James deepthroated him one last time and swallowed around him - while simultaneously kneading Q’s asscheek again, fingers sinking deep into the cleft of Q’s ass like a promise of something more this time - Q let out a long, wordless noise as came.  His keening ratcheted up nearly to a scream as James backed off only to suckle at the head of his cock, the sensations entirely too much.  

For a long, indeterminable moment, Q’s brain ceased to compute anything.  It was fortunate that outside of their little alcove there was a wind, because it hopefully hid the way that Q drove the sand away from them in one telekinetic blast.  He staggered, nearly tripped on the clothing still down around his knees, and had to clutch at James’ head and shoulders for support.  Now that he was no longer sucking cock, James was free to laugh at him, but at least he also wrapped his muscular arms around Q’s torso to steady him even as he chuckled.  Q felt little aftershocks of shock and euphoria just from the extra gravel in James’ voice.  

“There - see?  I did all of that without us even getting ambushed,” Bond said when Q managed to lean dependably against the wall again.  “I can behave.”  His broad grin said otherwise.  Even as Q watched, James lifted a thumb to swipe a lingering bead of cum from the corner of his mouth, and then licked it off.  Despite what it had just been through, Q’s dick made a valiant effort to come to attention again.  

Still awash in the afterglow but starting to slowly realize what he’d just done - outside where anyone could have seen, and where James most certainly had seen everything - Q started awkwardly reaching for his trousers without his wobbly legs giving out.  “Are you fishing for a reward or something?” he retorted.

James stood up and Q abruptly found his eyes drawn down to the man’s belt, and the fact that he hadn’t gotten off yet.  A roguish smile still playing across his face, James stepped closer as Q froze - although all he did was finish the job that Q had started, setting his clothes to rights.  “Only if you’re in a giving mood,” he said with a careless tone that absolutely defied the entire situation.