Work Text:
Of Good and Dust
Q had known there was something special about the agent ever since he had sat by his side in the middle of the National Gallery and Celeste - notoriously shy, withdrawn Celeste - had poked her head out of the collar of his parka in order to look at the tired picture James Bond painted, as consumed as the Fighting Temeraire after one too many battles, the rude and harsh comparison slipping past his lips without a thought.
Celeste hadn’t been happy about it, her little claws digging into the tender flesh of his neck in a warning manner; even if she didn’t dare to reprimand and embarrass him out aloud in front of strangers, Q could still hear her voice as clear as day in his head - thin and loud, like a peal of bells in the morning breeze. She had scolded him quite thoroughly that night while Q busied himself with feeding the cats and she basked under the warm light of a desk lamp, her cold blood making her tired and sluggish in the evenings; Q had let her vent, nodding absentmindedly here and there, not one of her words actually sticking to his brain.
He let the peculiar meeting fade away from his mind - well, Celeste’s reaction to it: he still thought about the agent and those blue eyes that had seemed to slice him apart and put him back together as banter flew easily between them, like the water of a river which course was unimpeded by nature or human intervention. He had been so transfixed by the Double-Oh that Q had barely registered the presence of the magpie on the other’s shoulder, puffed up in what Q had chalked up as annoyance and a deep-set desire of picking his eyes out.
Vicious bird.
Fitting, though.
Celeste’s reaction to Bond hadn’t been isolated, though. Whenever the man was around, she would slither out of pockets and various hiding nooks and crannies to look at him - or, as it later turned out, to look at Denebola. Q wasn’t sure about why his daemon was so enamoured with the vicious, witty magpie who shared the same penchant for thievery that Bond did and Celeste never really answered to his questions about her fascination with Denebola; as far as he knew, she didn’t even talk to her: she stared at her with the same kind of longing Q knew was in his own eyes when Bond walked into Q-Branch, bestowing smirks and quips upon him that had him swooning as if the man had been covering him in compliments and flowers.
Not that Q would have really wanted either: compliments could be so empty, they were nothing without a constant show of true respect, and he had never been a fan of flowers, he didn’t see the appeal in keeping something around that was slowly rotting away like a corpse - or maybe it was his mind that was just too morbid.
Q blinked as Denebola flew into his office, looking ruffled “Where’s Bond?” he inquired, pushing his laptop aside so that she could land in front of him; nobody was too surprised about Denebola being able to fly a long distance from her human, it was a well-known fact that there was witch’s blood in the man’s veins that came with powers regular human beings couldn’t even dream about: Q struggled to imagine letting Celeste be so far away from him, his heart constricted at the mere thought of what could happen to her while they were separated… no, it was too terrifying; no matter how useful, especially for a Double-Oh, Q knew he would have never been able to endure being away from Celeste - he would have gone mad with worry.
“On his way” Denebola said, the shiny golden button she had brought in gift falling from her beak with a loud and sharp clink.
Q didn’t really want to know who the daemon had attacked in order to bring them that trinket, in such cases ignorance truly was bliss “Thank you” he murmured, producing a treat for her while Celeste climbed down from the computer she had been snoozing on so that she could inspect the offering and squirrel it away “What does he want?”
“New car”
Q was sure that sniffing was impossible for a magpie but he still could hear it in her voice, loud and clear - just like the obviously she had just decided to imply, instead of directly snarking at him. Why he put up with such bratty behaviour from both of them he wasn’t sure; maybe it was true what Moneypenny said, that he was whipped and too blind to see it - too wrapped up in James Bond and the burning fire beneath his irises of ice, haunted by a darkness that shone through here and there.
“He can keep dream-”
“The new one is ready for testing”
Traitor .
Q glared down at Celeste and her far too long tongue - so, she did talk to Denebola "It's really not"
Denebola nonchalantly ignored him, bending down over Celeste in an evident display of interest in which his daemon basked in, as if the magpie was a ray of sunshine rather than a bird of prey that could have tried to eat her - not that it would turn out to be a smart move from Denebola's part: with her yellow and orange spots, she looked adorable and cute but she was toxic, poisonous, deadly.
Just like him.
"What kind of car?"
Celeste shot Q a vaguely guilty glance - or maybe it wasn't guilty at all and Q was fooling himself - and she turned back to Denebola, her neck stretched as much as possible in an attempt at getting closer to the other daemon "A Maserati"
The Quartermaster didn't think that the way the magpie's eyes flashed with excitement was a byproduct of his mind "I'm not letting you two test it"
"You're not letting us test what?"
"Car"
"Nothing" Q hissed, nudging another treat towards Denebola in the hopes it would shut her up long enough for him to direct Bond's attention to something else that wasn't a car worth millions of pounds and with which the other man couldn't be trusted - no, Q had sworn to himself to never let Bond behind the steering wheel of a sports car again.
Not one he had built and lovingly modified, at least.
Bond came closer, shamelessly getting into his personal space, with his hand outstretched to pet a finger down Denebola's head, gently patting her feathers down in a caring and loving manner "Hello Celeste"
It wasn't really polite for someone to talk to a daemon that wasn't their own - let alone to touch them - but Bond clearly didn't care and Celeste tilted her head to the side, confused; she wanted to stay close to Denebola - to bask in her warm, confident presence - but she also was uncomfortable beneath the other's blue gaze. In the end, she just murmured a vague greeting and scuttled back to Q, climbing up his arm to settle herself in the hollow of his throat, claws sunk in the other's tie knot to keep herself anchored in her spot.
Q petted her, thumb running down her back, expertly avoiding the poisonous glands on the top of her head and around her neck "Bond, I mean it"
"Sure you do"
"Bond, don't you dare"
Denebola preened - mocking.
Q really hated that fucking bird.
Bond grinned, all charged charm "I would never, my dear Quartermaster"
Celeste rolled her eyes "Liar" she uttered before sliding down Q's shirt, hiding against his chest - not before she sent one last longing glance towards Denebola: she couldn't wait for the next time she could chat with the other daemon but for now, she would leave Q to fend for himself with his own crush.
If only Q pulled his head out of his ass - if he did, she could spend so much more time with Denebola, learning to preen her feathers; cuddling in her warm, feathery breast; snoozing under the protective shadow of her wings.