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This was not how he expected his day to go. James had planned on his usual routine of spending time in the gym, some training in the gun range, wandering around to see what people were up to. He had planned to eat out, visit a museum, go to the theatre. Things had been quiet for him recently, and he could feel a buzz under his skin that soon enough he would be receiving summons to collect a new mission report.
He had not expected to end up locked inside a supply cupboard, fielding a call from Eve Moneypenny asking the whereabouts of Q, having to deny seeing the boffin recently even as the man in question is curled up against his side. He hadn’t expected to be stuck at an utter loss as to how to explain this if anyone eventually tracked them down. And for all the explanations that crossed his mind, he wondered if Q would appreciate him telling people they’d just had hot, frantic sex that left the younger man thoroughly shagged out rather than the truth.
At the very least, he’s going to wind the Quartermaster up with that little story later, as payback for making James handle the consequences of his “impression of a mad scientist”.
Two hours ago, Q had been in such a good mood, it had seemed. Overly caffeinated, jittery, unable to stay still, animatedly showing James some inventions he may be testing in the field soon enough. A small patch of film that when applied to the skin releases a sedating chemical, a pocket watch that doubles as a sticky charge, a new design on the Walther that heated the grip when it was held by the wrong person. James was quick to point out the downside of having to then try and use it himself if it’s just heated hot enough to burn, and Q just shrugged, bouncing on the balls of his feet.
James wasn’t sure if it was purposeful or not, but in the moments Q stilled for more than a few seconds, the trembling in his whole body became starkly visible. It wasn’t just his hands, which were typically the best sign of how tired he really was, but all over. Worse, as he stepped a little closer, studying his features more carefully, he could see how dilated Q’s pupils were.
“What’s going on Q?”
“Something else I’m w-working on,” Q grinned wide, excitedly leading James through to another lab, taking a small case from a desk and holding up a vial. “It’s phoenix down.”
“It’s.. what?”
“A mix of, of, of, erm nutrients and enzymes, epinephrine and an analgesic.”
“No, Q…”
“It’s for if, when you’re struggling and exhausted and in trouble. You just,” he pressed the top of the vial into his thigh, “and second wind.”
“And you call it what.”
“Phoenix down. You know, like final fantasy.” Q shakes his head at Bond’s frown. “You don’t know. No know. Ah, well, it’s used to revive a character. It’s the feathers, the down feathers, they can be used to revive a person,” he shakes the vial, “and this does that, gives the…gives that surge of energy. Like a phoenix, just without the dying.”
James reached forward and took the vial from him. “And you took some.”
“Oh, maybe. A small amount, just to test.”
“Oh, bloody hell.”
“What?”
James pocketed the vial and wrapped a hand around Q’s arm and started half leading, half pulling him away from the labs.
“Bond, what are you doing? Let go of me.”
“You’re going to medical.”
“No!”
“What the hell were you thinking Q?” James growled
Q tried to jerk his arm out of James grip, and when that didn’t work kicked at the back of the agents’ knees. Bond didn’t let go, even as he stumbled, using his momentum to pull Q forwards and get a more secure hold on him.
“Stop it.”
“Let me go!”
“Q, calm down.” He could feel Q’s pulse racing, his breathing fast and shallow, and spotting a door to one of the small supply cupboards, he dragged Q inside. “I’m going to let you go now, but you have to breathe and calm down.”
Q backed away from him as soon as Bond released him, glaring at the 00 and rubbing his arm where James had probably gripped him a little too hard. “What the hell are you doing?”
“No,” James snapped, punctuated with a wag of his finger. “No. That’s my question to you.”
“I am not the one that dragged you in here!”
“For fucks sake, Q. You took an experimental drug without any supervision!”
“I’ve been up for about 80 hours, it seemed a good time to test it.”
James pinched the bridge of his nose and groaned. “When you’ve been up so long you can’t think straight is the worst bloody time to test anything!”
“It was just, only this small, tiny, tiny amount,” Q said, holding his thumb and forefinger closely together. “I promise you, it’s really… it’s nothing to worry about.”
“You can’t see yourself.”
Q blinked, and shook his head. “I didn’t think it would be an issue…”
James bit back his frustration and turned his back on the Quartermaster, thinking through the options.
“I’m sorry,” Q muttered behind him.
He heaved a sigh, and locating a something to wedge against the door, he leaned against it and sat on the floor.
“What are you doing?”
“You’re not going back to work. You don’t want to see the doctor, and you shouldn’t go home just in case. And you can’t wander about where people will see you.” James shrugged. “So our options are limited.”
“We’re just going to stay in here?”
“I can keep an eye on you. It’ll be fine.”
Q looked around. “But there’s nothing to do.”
“You can try and relax.”
Q started pacing. “Relax? Trapped in a closet. Relax, sure.”
For the next 40 minutes Q paced, muttering complaints and occasionally starting to ramble nonsensically, James hushing him when his agitated voice began to rise. Eventually, he crashed. He murmured, “I don’t feel well,” as he slid down the wall, slumping over onto the floor.
In a flash of worry, James crawled to him, checking him over. His skin was a little clammy, but his pulse was far more normal, and his breathing was okay. James considered calling a doctor down when Q barely responded to him but decided to just keep a careful watch over him. After a few minutes, he settled himself sitting next to Q, and lifted the boffin off the hard floor to lean against him.
Q mumbled something unintelligible, shifting more completely into the agent’s side, and James shook his head.
“Idiot.”