Archive of Our Own

"Every second Friday," the civilian looking man at the door explained. "Tonight's theme is songs from the West End." James dreaded the idea of loud music and outrageous performers when all the wanted was to submerge his emotional headache in the bottom of a pint glass. But something on the poster that he couldn't identify tickled his curiosity. "Money tonight goes toward safe housing for homeless youth."

James fished his wallet out of the back pocket of his jeans and squeezed himself into the tavern.

By the time he got to the bar, he knew he had to be one of the oldest people in the room by at least ten, maybe fifteen years. This was Q's crowd, not his own, everyone at the prime of their life, laughing with mates and...hanging off of them as well. He caught sight of a young man stroking the hair of another at the end of the bar, and then witnessed a kiss between another male couple, and then took notice of the number of rainbow motifs throughout the space.

Oh. Right.

It's THAT type of club.

James had taken very little thought to Q's...type, apart from believing that he hardly had any. There were days he had to remind himself that Q was a human at all and not a very elaborate android that could be at best, married to his work. But then again, all James really knew about Q's civilian life was that he had a true phobia of flying, two cats, and a mortgage. Otherwise, he remained quite tight-lipped about what he got up to when the doors of Q-branch closed behind him.

The bartender looked like a toddler to James, fresh-faced with torn jeans and a plain white t-shirt, but he surprised him with a damn good cocktail. The energy around him in the full, intimate space felt strangely refreshing. Most of the places he frequented for a drink were populated by men like him, desiring a night of physical peace away from a job, a family, a life that had the ability to make them miserable. But these patrons, these kids, were here to have fun, to be with each other's company and maybe find someone to go home with at the end of it all. It made James think back to his Navy days when he and his mates felt invincible, that the world was theirs for the taking. The days long gone. He was merely a passenger in that world now, so he would drink in the energy while he could.

The house lights dimmed while the stage glowed under the bright white spotlight just before the crowd around him erupted in cheers to the arrival of what James could only describe as a painted Amazon clad head to toe in lavender sequins. She milked the attention, fanning herself in flattery and blowing exaggerated kisses over the audience. "Hello my lovelies, are you all in good form this evening?" she greeted, eliciting another swell of cheers from seemingly everyone but James, who silently sipped his martini. "My name is London Fyre and I'll be your hostess for this fabulous show tonight, featuring songs from the stage!" James had no idea how anyone could be so over the top. It was as if she took theatre training while on cocaine.

"We're going to start this razzle-dazzle evening with a newbie but a goodie. Please give the warmest of RVT welcomes to...Anita Favour!"

A drum solo intro blanketed the magnified cheers that only grew when the crowd recognized the song. It didn't sound like any musical James heard before. Anita thrust open the curtains as electric guitar and even louder shouts and screams filled the room, a mop of light brown curls tumbling down to a pleather miniskirt, ripped fishnet stockings, and shiny thigh-high stiletto boots that made James's ankles cry, though he was sure they were hardly going to be the tallest he'd see that night.

The lyrics began and she wrapped her overdrawn, vampy red lips around each of them so well it looked as if she was actually singing, but James realized quickly that it was more about the dancing, the way Anita would swing her hips from side to side and sashay around the stage that was hardly large enough to hold her larger-than-life presence. The heels hardly seemed an impediment to her as she danced so wildly, James sat in wonder about how her monstrous wig stayed on. He'd seen women dance like Anita in more nefarious clubs while on assignment, but even they would have been envious of her ability to completely own the crowd with her kisses and carefully placed gyrations.

She lowered herself to the floor, running her long, delicate fingers down the insides of her spread legs as she did so. Like a panther, she stalked to the front of the stage on her hands and knees, a hungry expression coming through under the layers of dark makeup as she collected dozens of bills offered up to her and slid them into the tops of her boots and under the waist of her skirt. Turning to her back, she offered her perfectly pale midriff to the spotlight, running her hands over her body and writhing in ecstasy that made even James feel a blush. She believed in the power behind every movement, and the crowd responded in an absolute frenzy as the lyrics howled and she arched her back into a climax.

Her legs fanned upwards to turn her toward her audience of subjects, boots kicking as they dangled from the edge of the stage as she looked rather pleased with the hysteria she could elicit with nothing but her body and charisma. But she was far from finished with them, as she jumped from the stage into the adoring crowd. Anita was quite touchy, hands wandering from body to body and face to face with teasing little moments of sensual contact. All the while, her lips never faltered with the words, as if every second had been previously rehearsed dozens of times. She strode through the sea of people, stopping to dance and grind against a handful of patrons, leaving them breathless. Do you know how lucky you'll be?

The music softened with her demeanor as she reached the bar, only a handful of people between her and James. The bartender handed her shot, which she threw back and downed just before the lyrics returned. In the evening, I've got to roam. Can't sleep in the city of neon and chrome. She made her way down, turning and stepping expertly between everyone, until she spun and found herself face to face with James, arm extended to his shoulder before they made eye contact. In that moment, the illusion broke, and the expression of confidence and certainty shattered into one of shock and fear.

The lyrics carried on without her, mouth frozen agape.

So let's find a bar, so dark we forget who we are! Where all the scars from the nevers and maybes die!

Literally shaking him off, she scurried away, finding a bar stool recently vacated to boost herself up onto the bar and away from James. Recovering from her spook quickly enough that the audience didn't seem to notice, she returned to her passionate and wild movements. Money flowed in her direction and she hardly had the space to carry it while she danced. Body rolls punctuated her words, and with a final whip of her hair and swing of her hips, she ended her number glistening in sweat under the lights, the cheers so loud James's ears muffled the sound in defense. She lowered herself carefully back to the floor, collecting notes all the way back to the main stage, where with a final kiss to the crowd, she disappeared.

The hostess had started speaking again, but James was too frazzled to hear what she was saying. He was still thinking about the sudden change in demeanor the queen had experienced when faced with him. And why on earth did a face caked to hell with layers of makeup leave him with a feeling of familiarity?

He finished his drink and pushed the glass away from him, excusing himself from the bar just as the music started for the second act. The intersection just outside the standalone structure directed cars in every direction over the damp roads. The fact that MI6 was on just the other side of the bridge brought him an odd comfort as he worked to make sense of what just happened. The whole performance left him confused and questioning, titillated in ways he'd never quite experienced. He kept thinking of the way she had moved and commanded those around her with absolute control. How she captured attention with a look and drove those around her into quiet submission, leaving them wondering what had just happened to them.

He'd felt this way before, and his head turned toward MI6 without conscious thought.

A metal door creaked opened behind him and a moment later, he heard the sound of a lighter clicked several times like a trigger on an empty pistol. Turning, he saw a figure quickly dart behind the tavern and he took a chance to follow them. He approached cautiously, delicately, as if advancing on a target in the field. Despite all of his efforts, as soon as he came into her view, she jumped and the cigarette between her fingers tumbled to the cobblestones under her thigh-high boots and fishnets.

"Shit!" she--he breathed, causing James's heart to stop along with his feet.

Hesitation coated his response as if the wrong word would set off a bomb. "...Q?"

The curtain of tight curls shifted to reveal a pair of glasses, and a stern, fire-filled look that James could recognize even under the streetlights and layers of makeup. Even with his care, James couldn't guarantee that the bomb had been disarmed, Q looking like a fearful animal backed into a corner.

"What are you doing here?" Q bit at him, breathing sharply as he fished for a second cigarette from his coat that James now recognized from work. He found himself at a complete loss for words. The voice was 100% Q, but most everything else about the person in front of him was decidedly not. 

He fumbled over his words and responded by stepping back, fidgeting with his hands. "I...you mentioned this place. I wanted to go somewhere I wouldn't know anyone." Q scoffed and exhaled a stream of smoke. "Obviously...didn't work out." 

The Quartermaster remained silent, not even looking in Bond's direction. He looked so comfortable despite his anger, so laid back and loose contrasting the upright and upstanding air that he held on the other side of the bridge. The heels made him dwarf James in more ways than simply physical height. "That was...quite the performance." No response, but he at least got recognition with his eyes. "What was the song?" 

He took a drag and blew the smoke away in its entirety before he graced James with an answer. "Out Tonight. Apparently more fitting than I initially realized." He turned his head down to the ground and wrapped his arms tightly around himself. 

"Q..." he pleaded as he took a single step forward, prompting Q to turn his body away from him just enough to send a stabbing pain into James's chest. "Q...it's hardly an issue." Hardly, but there was still an amount of bewilderment facing him as his previous ideas about the man in front of him were shattered and replaced with something completely out of left field. Quartermaster. Fear of Flying. Two Cats. Mortgage. Drag Queen. Queer. Two big qualities to add to one's personal resume on one night, against their will. "But that's not what you've always heard...is it?"

"This conversation is not happening now," he replied harshly like open nerves were being poked and prodded. "Leave me alone, Bond." Nothing but smoke left Q's lips after that. The door between them was shut, even with Q in plain view. With a resigned sigh, James stuck his hands in his pockets and retreated, knowing better than to go against his Quartermaster's instructions.

With a simple good night, James left him in the dark.