Chapter Text
“Oh… my… God… you actually-”
James Bond didn’t even look up as he shoved 009’s shoulder, catching the other assassin completely off guard and sending her to the ground. Several Q-Branch staff members paused, clearly expecting some form of outrage from the woman; she’d been there to receive her equipment as James came to turn his back in. Instead of lashing out as even James fully expected, 009 merely cackled before pulling herself up, causing a few Q-Branch staff members to quickly scatter. A happy Double-O was a quiet cause for concern, but a smug one…James knew that a few staff members were still discreetly searching for any missing bodies after 004 came home with a little smirk on her face and utter silence to the cause with nothing but disconnected comms as her sole witnesses.
Dusting herself off, 009 nodded to his sleeves and murmured, “Don’t forget to get those injuries looked at, hm?”
“Just a slight burn, I’ll live,” James said, keeping his voice down even as Q stepped out of his office, engaged in deep conversation with Tanner over something…the budget, if James had to guess from Q’s familiar pinched expression.
“James, those are fucking third degree burns. O’Reilly isn’t that nasty when it comes to medical attention,” 009 whispered furiously, turning her back to Q to prevent any eavesdropping. She sighed, and then said, “And Q isn’t that awful when it comes to missing equipment, at most he would have moaned and groaned about it but gotten over it soon enough. Injuring yourself isn’t worth the equipment. Q can easily make equipment, but you’re not as replaceable as you think you are.”
“But O’Reilly goes off-duty the same time Q does, so he won’t log in any visits during his non-working hours. Besides, I’ve got makeshift bandages and a hell of a lot of paracetamol,” James quietly replied, moving so that Q couldn’t see his words. “Q’s always wanted his equipment back and I’m well aware of the hole it creates in his budget each time any of us fails to bring something back.”
“That stuff is designed to save your life, not put it further at risk. Even if you did want to bring it home,” 009 muttered under her breath, shaking her head when she saw the scorched gun that James was holding.
“At least it’s something he can fix,” James muttered back. “And while we’re talking about equipment, I’ll have you know that this isn’t the first time I’ve brought back my equipment. Or what’s left of it.”
“Is this the first time you’ve injured yourself trying to retrieve it? You know, after you rendered Q-Branch deaf and blind for the mission’s finale?” 009 asked in a low voice, scowling to scare off a staff member who had been blatantly leaning closer to catch their whispers. “A romantic interest would certainly explain your sudden habit of going to Medical during Q’s off-duty hours, and the fact that you go the extra mile to make sure that Q has what he needs. Don’t think I didn’t catch the one time you spent several nights the other week looking for that furball Q owns when Q complained that it went missing and he was all worried…”
James smirked. “What Q doesn’t know won’t hurt him,” he replied, tapping her nose and earning a scowl.
“Which begs the question of why he can’t know,” 009 asked carefully.
James shrugged before glancing back at Q, who looked like he was ready to hit Tanner over the head with his folder. Making a mental note to ‘drop in’ on Tanner later and inquire after the Q-Branch budget (he’d have to get Tanner’s home address first), he turned back around and said, “Assuming he was even interested to begin with, it would eventually kill him to stay around me longer than he’s doing already. I can’t promise him anything because of my line of work. You know how it is, you’ve been at it for as long as I have. I’d rather see him happy with someone else and that brilliant smile of his than to risk taking it all away. It would be healthier for him in the long run if I stayed professional and away.”
“And has Q had an chance to weigh in on this matter?”
“No, and it’s probably for the best that he doesn’t,” James muttered before looking up and finding a Q-Branch technician shuffling nervously in front of them. “If you repeat one word of whatever you just heard, I guarantee it that you will not live until your next paycheck,” he said in a calm voice.
The man paled, but nodded silently as he held out 009’s equipment for a peace offering.
“Talk to him,” 009 muttered as she left.
James shrugged and turned back to Q, who was flipping off to Tanner’s retreating back. “I’m sure given time, he’ll come around,” James teased, steadying Q with one hand on the shoulder when the young man jumped.
Q sighed, shaking his head as he set the budget folders down. “I swear I need to put a bell on all of you, since you keep startling me badly,” he complained good-naturedly as James set the damaged gun on the worktable. “Oh, lovely, you’ve brought it back,” he said, smiling as he reached for the gun. “Other than getting shot at, how was Santorini?”
“Nice. Might vacation down there once I go on leave,” James replied, careful to keep his tone light yet detached while watching as Q study the gun. “It was the best I could bring back,” he said after a moment, well aware of the recent argument.
“Something is always better than nothing,” Q replied calmly as he pulled the case out and placed the Walther back into the bed of foam. “You wouldn’t happen to have the earpiece, would you?” he asked hopefully.
“Oh, sorry about that.” James reached up and gently pulled the earpiece out. He paused, however, when he saw Q’s shocked expression. “What?”
“Your, um, hand,” Q said, frowning as he reached out for the hand that James had been using to reach for the earpiece.
Shit. James had forgotten about the burns extending onto the back of his right hand, stupid of him especially given that 009 had spotted them as well. He swiftly placed the earpiece onto the table and stuffed his hand into a pocket as he said, “Sunburn. Happens when you’re in the Mediterranean.”
Q frowned. “I thought you were out of your opponent’s car when it blew,” he said, brows knitting together in confusion as he reached for James’s wrist.
But he had your gun when the car blew up, I went back for it as soon as it had finished exploding. I also may have been a little too close. “Well, I can go get it checked later, it’s not bad at all,” he said, hating himself for a moment for the concern on Q’s face. Come on Q, don’t worry about me. Short life span and all, remember? One little burn isn’t going to make much of a difference. “I was out of range when the car blew up, you worry too much,” James chided, grinning when Q scowled for a second.
“Well, all’s done and thank you for returning your equipment,” Q said, smiling softly as he looked up at James, the same, untainted smile that James enjoyed even when it wasn’t directed at him. “I do appreciate the gesture, thank you.”
James nodded in response. “You’re welcome. Q,” he said before turning to leave.
“Double-oh seven,” Q replied, a note of final dismissal in his voice before he turned back to what he’d been working on before Tanner arrived.
James didn’t immediately go to Medical.
Instead, he terrorized the recruits and harassing the instructors for several hours before finally retreating to hide from one angered instructor. He changed his bandages once in the loo, just to keep the infection from setting in before wrapping his arms up again. Careful to avoid the internal security cameras, he lurked outside the entrance to Medical, waiting patiently for 1700 hours to roll around. O’Reilly was somewhat used to James’s oddly timed medical visits, so even after Ellen Wilbur had left, James knew that O’Reilly was still in there despite it being past his shift. Slinking into Medical, careful to avoid the two cameras watching the entrance on either side, James walked past them and headed down the hall where he knew O’Reilly waited for him.
“What is it this time?” O’Reilly asked, not bothering to look up as James entered as he set out various instruments and medications.
“Burns, all the way from first to third degree on both arms,” James replied, nudging the door shut with his hip before pulling off his suit jacket and dress shirt before sitting down on the examination table. O’Reilly scowled at the makeshift bandages as James began pulling them off. “I kept them as clean as possible.”
“Third degree? I think these are second degree…why the bloody hell do you not come sooner?” O’Reilly snapped, already gearing up for another, visit-long lecture about what James suspected would be about ‘proper medical care’ and ‘swallowing his fucking pride long enough before infection set in’. “Christ Bond, why don’t you ever come in during regular hours, when I have staff assistance available? I mean, cat scratches and that one gouge from the beast I can handle on my own, but burns?”
“I can wait here so you can go get some of your night staff,” James said tiredly, already thinking about his flat; he was exhausted, and the flight home with the injuries hadn’t helped matters much. Honestly, at this point, he wanted to fall into bed with the usual mess of painkillers in his system. He vaguely wondered what Q would do once he left, most likely went home to that bloody cat of his and anyone else (James hadn’t seen evidence of a partner when he brought the cat to its home in the middle of the night, and stuffing it through a window into the flat had been strangely satisfying because the cat had been yowling in anger the entire time. Good riddance, James hated that cat but he’d seen how fondly Q spoke of it to some of his coworkers), but he knew that a lack of evidence didn’t necessarily mean that Q was single.
And even if he was, better to spare him the heartbreak.
It was almost like meeting Vesper again, the potential for a happy future but this time with the experience of his life so far. Perhaps, if he had met her with the knowledge of what his duty as a Double-O entailed, he might have let her go as well, to spare her the pain of loss. At that point, resignation wouldn’t even been on the table as an option, he’d be too mired in his duty to Queen and country.
His hands were too tainted to touch the source of light. Better that they shine on their own than risk damage in his hands. He could always watch at a distance.
“Well, let me go get someone to help me, I can’t believe you walked- never mind, I can believe that you walked around all day with these burns. Wait here and don’t fucking move,” O’Reilly groused before making a face at the sight. “How bad is the pain?”
“Not at all, I took a few paracetamol earlier today,” James said, rolling his shoulders as O’Reilly grumbled to himself.
“Well, just don’t move then,” O’Reilly said peevishly before leaving the room, closing the door behind him. James didn’t relax until he heard the doctor’s retreating footsteps with the lack of a door lock clicking into place, then he let his shoulders sag, swearing softly as he felt the pain on the edge of his consciousness. The bravado could only get him so far.
He frowned when he heard approaching footsteps on the other side of the door, tensing slightly when he realized that they were lighter than O’Reilly’s usual footfalls. It was most likely a nurse strong-armed into coaxing him into an operating room. “Not interested,” he said flatly as the doorknob turned and the door swung open.
“Good, because I wasn’t going to offer you anything,” Q said lightly as he closed the door behind him. James felt his stomach drop and muscles tense as he stared at the Quartermaster, completely at loss of what to say or do next. Especially since he was sitting there exposed and about to be caught out on a lie. Q remained quiet as he glanced at James’s injuries, and then repeated, “Sunburns?”
“It gets hot there in the summer,” James replied defensively, mentally scrambling for an excuse that would get him out of the mess he was about to careen into.
“Fire-hot?” Q asked skeptically, drawing up a chair to the right of the room and sitting down. He frowned as he made eye contact with James, never looking away as he leaned forward and reached for James’s nearest hand.
“I miscalculated the distance,” James replied, allowing Q’s cool fingers to slide across his skin as Q turned his hand over and spread his palm out, revealing an imprint from the Walther’s handgrip. Shit. “I also might have grabbed the Walther while it was still too hot.”
“Yes, I can tell.” Q frowned, and then shook his hand. “James, as much grief as I give you and others about returning equipment, I don’t expect you to risk yourself in retrieving it,” he said, carefully resting James’s hand back on the examining table.
I wanted to. “It wasn’t a problem.”
An arched eyebrow. “I didn’t say it was, it’s just this isn’t your MO. Double-oh nine thinks you’ve been behaving somewhat erratically as well, and she said you’d be able to tell me what was going on,” Q said, leaning back casually in his chair without breaking eye contact.
And the traitor should count her blessings that she’s out of the country now. “There’s nothing going on, I’m just fine,” James snapped without intending to. Mentally berating himself for the slight flinch from Q, he took a steady breath and said, “Perhaps, Q, you’re jumping at shadows. I’m fine.”
Q merely nodded before standing up. He hesitated at the door, and then said, “You do know that as a friend, I wouldn’t rat you out the shrinks, right? Um, if you’re ever ready to talk about it, let me know.”
I know. James merely nodded before saying, “You should go before O’Reilly gets back, you know how tetchy he gets about unauthorized visitors.”
Q nodded. “Good point.” He hesitated, and then added, “Good evening, double-oh seven, do try to take the time to recover.”
If that’s what you want, then I will. “Of course,” James replied, keeping his tone neutral. “Good evening, Q.” He leaned back slightly as Q nodded once before slipping back into the hall, and then let out a slow sigh as he heard Q’s footsteps retreating. The blacked-out comms would keep Q from ever figuring out that James had intentionally dived back into the car wreck, not for the girl but for the gun and the desired intel, the latter of which he’d given to a Q-Branch tech upon his arrival. He hadn’t realized he’d been injured badly from the last dive until he was back in his hotel room, preparing to leave.
James leaned his head back, trying to think of anything and anyone but the dark-haired Quartermaster.
He knew he was in deep, but he was trying his damndest not to drown.