Chapter Text
God, Q wished he could focus.
Every keystroke, his fingers shudder and nearly miss their targets. Every move he makes, he feels a tightness in the back of his throat. Every time he reaches for a cup of tea, he can see the way his hands tremble and barely close around the handle. Moneypenny gives him sympathetic looks, she feels the same, but he needs to work.
He just... Can't.
Bond's dead. Dead and he isn't coming back.
Q watched his vitals turn to zero before his very eyes. Even thinking about it makes tears well in his eyes. God, he misses Bond's eyes. He misses Bond.
But we can't always get what we want, now can we? Fuck, he could hear James saying that now, almost teasing him for being so sentimental. No need for sentiment, Q reasoned, locating and tracking the new 007's location. She was a damn good agent, but she wasn't him.
Q sighed and leaned back in his chair. As much as he needed to keep working, he needed a break. She was driving back to MI6, she would be fine without supervision for a second. She was coming home. Shit, Q needed new tea- This cup had gone cold and bitter. Perhaps a step back would do him some good. Working this soon, only a two days after losing James felt too new- too raw. Moneypenny felt the same, he knew- The two had shared plenty of tears and aching moments over alcohol that only made them sob harder. It was cathartic, but they both knew they couldn't wallow forever. MI6 needed them more than their own emotions did.
Pushing his chair back and wiping his eyes under his glasses, Q stood and grabbed the teacup. As he stood, he felt as though somebody- something- were looking his way. He glanced between the desks of the rest of Q branch- Nothing. All absorbed in their own worlds and work. Despite it all, he felt a sense of pride looking down at them- They were like ducklings, and him, a mother duck. Following him, coming to him with teacups and questions, hell, one even bought him a cheap little "Q: Worlds Best Branch Leader" mug, and he had to turn away to hide the tears of joy and pride in his eyes.
And it was into that mug that Q was pouring himself a new cup of tea. It steamed in his hand, and he took a sip despite the way it burned his tongue. The pain in his mouth briefly distracted him from the pain in his chest. Mixing in a couple cubes of sugar, he left to sit back at his desk, setting the mug beside the-
Other. One.
Where the hell was that mug? Q was positive he hadn't moved it. The small one, with a chip on the handle where he'd normally put his thumb- What the fuck?
A squeak sounded behind one of his monitors. A quick glance revealed the mug, moving behind the screen as if it were being pushed. Not pulled, pushed. This had to be a prank. Q picked up the mug, feeling no strings or anything around it, sighed. Probably somebody had moved it away from the expensive tech, and he was just losing it. Of course. Pranking coworkers combined with his stress level would make him jumpy, seeing things that didn't exist, like moving cups. He mentally slapped himself for letting himself get to be so absent-minded. He returned the cup to the branch break room, dumping the cold liquid down the sink. As he rinsed the cup, he felt as if a hand ghosted over his shoulder, landing on his upper arm. Nearly horrified, Q reached up to slap his own over it and-
Ended up slapping himself in the arm. Ouch.
Ava, who sat three desks down on his left, looked up from her own cup at the table. "You alright?" She asked. Q cleared his throat, turning to look at her. "Fine. Just an itch." He hoped that sounded convincing. She blinked, shrugged, and took another sip of her tea. "Alright." Smooth one, Quartermaster.
CHRIST, could James' voice not get out of his head? Jesus, it was like he was talking right in his ear! His fucking imagination was running too wild, he couldn't handle this, not today! He turned back to his desk, feeling the pain in his arm subside.
What if it IS in your ear, Q? Have you considered that?
Sitting down, Q froze.
No, James Bond was dead. He- He wasn't speaking through some earpiece, he wasn't whispering a quip into his ear to taunt him, he was dead.
Death doesn't stop all communication. Ever heard of gh-
No, ghosts aren't REAL, Q forced himself to reason. He had to be losing it, creating imaginary mental conversations with Bond to, cope perhaps? That was it, just cope! He didn't believe in the supernatural. Almost everything had a natural or scientific explanation. He knew this, and he knew that people don't just- "come back" after they've died. That's fucking-
Not impossible. If it were, how would I be talking to you?
You're not talking to me, I'm imagining it because I'm grieving for you. You're not real.
You're grieving for me? I expected you to just move on with your life. You and all of MI6.
Yes, well, people miss James Bond. They're all just as in shock. Even Tanner and M.
Damn, losing me must've done a number on them.
Of course it did, you're a damn good agent, Bond, no wonder we- Wait a damn second. Why the fuck am I having a mental conversation with a dead man? I'm pretending to talk to someone who isn't even here!
How do you know I'm not?
Now THAT made Q stand still. He glanced at his now-cooling "Q: World's Best Branch Leader" mug, swearing he could see the reflection of two men in the cup instead of one.
He felt Bond smile down his neck.
Alright, if you're here, move my cup.
A beat. Two. Then, Q saw the handle of his cup slowly begin to turn, squeaking on the desk until it had rotated a good 90 degrees. Then, it moved back, too close to his keyboard for comfort-!
Q grabbed the mug, taking a very shaky gulp to calm his nerves. Jesus.
Believe me now?
Yes, very well. So, are you just going to follow me around and live in my thoughts, or do you have 'unfinished business' you need me to attend to? Because if so, I'm not helping.
Even if I haunt you?
How in the hell would you 'haunt' me?
You said I was a 'nuisance' while I was living. Trust me, I'll be worse now, but this time, only you will know what's happening. Nobody will ever believe you. Christ, Q can practically hear the smile on his face. He never thought he'd miss it, but God was it nice. Q cleared his throat.
So, what do you want me to do?
Well, I know two things now. One, I'm dead, and two, I'm not. And nobody can see me or hear me except you. And it took YOU a while to notice me. I've been leaving you clues!
Q thought back to his flat in the days following Bond's death. Cups moved, but barely enough for him to think it was anything other than his cats. They had been meowing, staring at nothing, but they were cats, they did that all the time! He saw nothing wrong with it, but clearly they knew more than him.
So, how are you managing to talk to me?
I have to get close. Literally, I'm standing behind you talking directly into your ear. Can't you feel it?
If Q concentrated quite hard, he could almost feel lips against his ear and hands on his shoulders. The feeling sent shivers up his spine.
"Oh, Bond, what am I going to do with you?"