Work Text:
Power Hungry
James couldn’t believe his eyes.
It was a rare occurrence: even if something blindsided him, it didn’t take long for his brain to catch up and push down any and all feelings that might have been dredged up, so that he could focus on the situation at hand and swiftly act - there would be time for crying and tormenting himself later; for trying to find answers at the bottom of a liquor bottle; for beating himself up for not being more careful and receptive to the tiny little details that had escaped him.
But as he looked up to the wiry figure bent down over a laptop, fingers tapping a soothing and familiar rhythm against the tabletop while he waited for something to load, James’ mind refused to catch up and take things at face value: it just couldn’t be true, there was no reasonable explanation why that was happening right in front of his eyes.
He tugged once again on the restraints that were keeping him trapped onto the chair - a metallic thing he couldn’t have even tried to tip and break in order to fashion a weapon out of its legs; it had been a clearly deliberate choice on the other’s part, the other man knew him and all of the tricks up his sleeves far too well. He was an enemy James couldn’t compete with, one who had been in his mind and in his heart for so long that he had had the chance to learn all of his secrets, all of his thoughts, all of his behaviours - to the point that the other man could probably predict him as easily as he he did a game of chess.
“Why?” it was the first time he had actually let himself talk, James had been too stunned to open his mouth and start spitting venom into the other’s face; the reveal had left him breathless in a way that James associated to free falling from a plane without any kind of parachute, the air rushing past him seemingly leeching onto his screams and dissolving them before they could be heard - it was a feeling he knew well, he had fallen from the sky plenty of times and everytime the dread pooling at the bottom of his stomach was unchanged, as heavy as a mass of molten lead “Why are you doing this?”
James had witnessed plenty of falls from grace: in his line of work, it was natural to see some people stumble and lose their footing, only to find it anew on the wrong path that only would lead them downward, deep into a darkness they would never really climb out of - deep down, he knew he had risked the same fate too, once or twice; James had wavered, his faith in what he did had been reduced to a candle to the point of being extinguished by the lightest gust of wind.
He could understand the temptation - the seduction.
He couldn’t understand giving in.
"One day, you'll find that this world is and never will be enough"
What an empty answer, it meant everything and nothing: it didn’t give James anything to work with and he knew it was on purpose - of course it was: the other knew better than giving him anything that could be turned into a weapon “I’m older than you, I think I should have found out by now if what you say is true”
The other turned around, James could read the amusement in the way he leaned back against the desk, reminding him of the way the man had used to do the same in the middle of a quaint little kitchen that had been all kitted out in dark wood and soft pastels, haloed by the mouthwatering scent of a stirfry put together at the last minute instead of the cold and sterile lights of the computers that shone as bright as stars in the middle of the dark room.
“Age is no guarantee of efficiency”
The words echoed in his mind from the past, the memory recoiling at their distortion “Youth is no guarantee of innovation”
“True” a little smile ghosted over his lips, there was the spectre of a bitterness behind it that hadn’t been there the first time around “But in this instance I feel like you’re blind, James - and that’s rich coming from me” the man grinned, tapping the edge of his glasses “I’m afraid that you will never see what I do”
“Maybe because there is nothing at all to see”
James watched the man walk up to him, hand outstretched to cup his face; he couldn’t move away even if he wanted to, rooted on the spot not only by the bindings but by the memories that kept him trapped in the evanescent knowledge that the other would never hurt him: it was clear that he would, if he had to - that he was capable of being dark and deranged and lost “Q” James swallowed thickly, eyes boring into the other’s in the hopes of finding a spark of recognition there “Q, tell me why are you doing this”
Q shook his head, unable to keep the sorrow from twisting his face “You really wouldn’t listen to me even if I tried telling you” he took a step back, the hand that had caressed James’ stubbled cheek curled up in a loose fist as if his body was trying to hold on to the last of James’ warmth “You wouldn’t” he turned around, the connection between them falling.
Severed.