Work Text:
The blood wouldn’t wash away.
Sometimes, after dealing with the stubbornness of the agents, or filling out paperwork to explain the explosions caused by overenthusiastic minions, Q just craved quiet comfort.
He’d never expected to find it at MI6. But when everything got to be too much, he knew he could leave the chaotic dance of Q Branch and make his way to the thick carpets and paneled walls of the upper administration. There, at the end of a unremarkable hallway, would be the nondescript door that lead to sanctuary.
Q couldn’t tell whether his hands were bleeding or the blood was dripping down his arms, but the water kept splashing pink and red against the clean white porcelain.
He knew that by the time he knocked on the office door, Bill Tanner would already have a kettle going inside and be ready to settle with him on the obscenely comfortable sofa.
There was blood everywhere, and Q wasn’t quite sure how much of it was his.
Bill’s office was sparsely furnished, surprisingly minimalist, but the few pieces he allowed were luxurious ones. The overstuffed sofa with soft fabric upholstery, big enough for two men to share lengthwise if they were intimate, that Q had napped on more than a few times. The gorgeous maple wood desk with the smooth strokeable curves of a live edge that begged for the touch of fingers. A painting of a modern wood cabin against winter mountains with warm windows and a tidy trail of smoke trailing from the stone chimney. And Bill’s sturdy and armless desk chair that Q occasionally blushed to recall.
He raised his eyes from his shaking hands to meet his own gaze in the bathroom mirror and flinched away. He was covered in so much blood he knew it couldn’t be all his own.
That Bill Tanner had turned out to be his refuge, his sanctuary, was still astonishing to him. Quiet, steady Tanner, M’s chief of staff, capable, competent, reliable...and tall.
He refused to look past his own shivering reflection to the body he knew was splayed across his bed. The assassin had tried to strangle him first, then pulled a knife when Q had fought free of his grip. There were some cuts on his forearms from defending himself, but Q thought it might be the wound across his ribs and the cut on his head that were the source of most of his blood.
Bill was tall enough that Q fit perfectly against him and he loved it when Bill would pull him into his arms. Q had been a little ashamed at first of just how much comfort he took from Bill’s hugs, but feeling the tensions of the day drain away as those arms came around him and he tucked his face against Bill’s jaw was addictive.
He felt a line of wetness trickle down his face and knocked his glasses askew when he tried to rub it away. Another shard fell out of the broken lens and bounced off the blood-splattered counter. Q shuddered convulsively and wrapped his arms around himself with a moan.
Bill took care of him in so many ways, big and small. Target shooting had long been a hobby of his so he’d already been a fine marksman before he joined MI6, and he got plenty of practice on the testing range anyway, but Bill had insisted that he also train in close combat and had enforced near-daily practice sessions for months.
Q had somehow managed to wrest the knife from the man but everything after that was a blur. He’d blinked and there was a dead weight on top of him and blood everywhere and a knife sliding wetly in his grip. He’d shoved the body away with a horrified shout and the knife had gone flying as well.
It was Bill that tasked a minion with making sure Q’s tea mug was always filled and hot. It was Bill that re-directed the occasional irritable double-oh. It was Bill that arranged matters so that Q was exempt from the most tedious meetings, freeing up so much of his valuable time. It was Bill who pulled him into an embrace and then kissed him with a slow lingering hunger until Q was making helpless sounds against his mouth...
“Q...”
It was Bill who had somehow magically appeared in the mirror behind him, his hands gently exploring Q’s injuries and his face calm and reassuring. His eyes were bright with incandescent rage, though, and that fury was what stirred Q enough to turn and throw himself into Bill’s arms, trembling, his broken glasses falling off to shatter on the blood-smeared floor.
“I’ve got you,” Bill murmured into his hair, one hand wrapped around Q’s waist and the other cupping the back of his head, holding him tight against the shivering that was beginning shake Q’s entire body. “I’ve got you now and I’m not going to let go.”
Q hid his face and clutched at Bill’s clothing, desperate, trying to pull himself together. “There was...” He swallowed and bit his lip.
“Yes, there was, but you took care of that threat, and now there’s nothing for you to do but be tended to and coddled, and we’re going home for that. Not here, my home.” Bill kissed Q’s temple, mindful of the cut, but Q made a protesting murmur, knowing there was blood everywhere. “Hush, Q, my Q. You’ve already done what you needed to. Just...let me take care of you right now.”
And Q collapsed into Bill’s warm and safe embrace and let him take over, trusting him, knowing that responsibilities still waited in the future, but wanting nothing more than to be taken care of, just for right now. He just needed a few moments of sanctuary.