Work Text:
“How’s it going?” Bond asked from where he sat sprawled out and relaxed across the sofa.
Q huffed, tapping his pencil against his thigh as he scrutinised the paper in front of him. “It would be going a lot faster if you stopped distracting me.”
“You’ve worked through bigger distractions than this.”
Q raised an eyebrow at Bond, who smirked at him in response.
“I’m just saying I have faith in your abilities.”
“I’m so glad I have your confidence. Where would I be without you?”
“I’d imagine holed up somewhere, lonely and bored.”
“I’d imagine somewhere having finished already and moving on with my life.” Q frowned at the drawing, picking up a rubber and squinting as he carefully erased a few errant lines.
“You’d miss me.”
“I’d love the opportunity to miss you.”
Bond turned to look at him, leaning over his desk, engrossed in his task, tongue peeking out between his lips for a moment. “Would you though?”
Q paused, looking up to meet his eyes. He shook his head, then dropped the pencil on his desk, his fingers dancing over the other pencils that lay there until he found the one he was looking for and moved back to the paper. He paused again. “No. I don’t think I would,” he said so quietly Bond almost didn’t hear him.
“Q?”
“Hm, if you’d just…” Q brought his finger to his lips, as he made a series of quick marks on the paper.
“Q,” Bond repeated, more softly. “What did you say?”
Q didn’t answer, seeming to grow absorbed in his work again, and Bond sighed. He went back to systematically tensing and relaxing each muscle in his body, taking slow, deep breaths until he felt like drifting off, listening to the sound of pencil lightly scratching on paper.
“Do you really think that?”
“Hm?”
“That I wouldn’t miss you.”
Bond frowned, and looked back to Q who was still staring fixedly at his work. “Of course not.”
“Because I didn’t mean it.”
“Didn’t mean what?” Bond sighed again and sat up. “What’s going on?”
Q took a deep breath in through his nose and crossed his arms, only to drop them to place his hands on his hips a moment later, then fold them across his chest again. Bond stayed quiet as he watched his Quartermaster flounder.
“I know how this job is,” Q said quietly. “I know what can happen. I’ve seen it happen.” His gaze was fixed on his feet, and he gave a little shrug in some poor attempt at nonchalance, as if trying to distance himself from what he was saying. “From thousands of miles away, I’ve heard it over an earpiece, I’ve seen it on cameras. Maybe it’s not the same as seeing it in person, but it’s also different in that… you can’t do anything.” Q met Bond’s eyes now, anguish wrought on his face. “It’d be ill-advised to form attachments. And I have never and will never regret thinking that’s a load of tosh.”
“Q…” Bond stood and crossed the room in four strides, bringing his hands to hover at Q’s shoulders for a moment, as if waiting for permission, before letting them settle to stroke down and back up the younger man’s arms. “You said this was going to help calm your mind.”
The boffin glanced at the paper morosely. “It was. But then I said…” his green eyes flicked back to meet Bond’s and he gave a sad smile. “I don’t mean it, that I’d love the chance to miss you.”
Bond let out a low chuckle. “I know that.”
“Still, I shouldn’t have said…”
“I know. You were joking.”
Q frowned and shook his head, a little annoyance creeping into his expression. “That doesn’t matter, I shouldnmmf mmffmm…”
Q’s words become muffled as Bond presses a hand over his Quartermaster’s mouth. “Give me strength! You were joking, I wasn’t seriously asking if you meant it, so let’s forget it, okay?” He raised his eyebrows as Q scowled. “Say ‘yes, Bond. You are right. I’m being silly. We both know I’d miss you terribly.’”
Q continued scowling for a minute before raising his hand to hook a finger under the hand Bond still held against his mouth. Bond grinned as he let Q pull it away and dropped it back to his side, wiggling his eyebrows expectantly. “Go on.”
“You’re an arse.”
Bond laughed and gave Q a pat on the shoulder. “Close enough.”
“Wanker.”
Bond sighed, then brushed a finger under Q’s chin. “You good?”
Q seemed to think for a moment, and nodded. “I better get back to this or I’ll never finish.”
“Can I see?” Bond made to look over the desk, but Q moved with a speed he hadn’t known the boffin capable of, practically throwing himself over the desk, arms braced on either side of his work as he bent over to cover the paper from sight.
“I’d rather you didn’t,” Q said with a nervous laugh. “I told you, I don’t do this often, and I’m not comfortable with it yet.” Bond raised an eyebrow, and Q shook his head. “It’s just one of my little hobbies that I don’t usually share… ever.”
Bond’s other eyebrow joined the first, and his lips twitched in a soft smile. “Okay.” He took a step back, cocking his head to one side. “I’ll just sit over there again, and hope you show me when you’re done.”
“Of course.” Bond took another step back, and Q turned his head, watching him intently. “Ah, Bond? What are you doing?”
“Nothing,” Bond replied in his best innocent voice, taking a step to the side, causing Q to have to twist round to keep his eyes on him.
“Bond! What?”
Bond grinned, eyes crinkled in amusement. “Sorry. But, unlike you, I love any opportunity to not miss you.”
Confusion tugged at Q’s brows for a moment, before quickly pushing himself back up, awkwardly tugging his jumper down and picking a pencil up. “Are you going to continue being a prick, or are you going to sit down and let me finish?”
Several thoughts flittered through Bond’s head, the sudden urge to say or do something that would make HR’s heads spin, and his grin turned into a laugh as Q seemed to hear his thoughts, spinning the pencil in his fingers to shift his grip on it, jabbing it in Bond’s direction. “Don’t even think about it.”
Bond raised his hands in playful surrender, and sauntered back to the sofa, retaking his sprawled position. He shifted until he was comfortable, ready to relax again, but Q didn’t move, still standing with his pencil pointed at Bond. “Q?”
Q opened his mouth, about to say something, then snapped it shut again with a huff.
“Go on, just say it.”
The scowl was back. “Is that why you come into Q-branch in your free time? To ogle me?”
“Sometimes.”
“Why?”
Bond shrugged. “I sometimes go weeks, or even months without seeing you. Why wouldn’t I want to see you every moment I have the chance?”
Q continued to glower for a moment, then turned his attention back to the drawing, starting to shade something, then hesitating. He looked back up at Bond again, an indecipherable expression on his face, before refocusing on his work. “Fine. Okay,” he muttered under his breath. “My fault for asking.”
Bond frowned, now feeling a little confused himself. “Do you want me to stop?”
“Stop what?”
“Stop coming to Q-branch for non work-related reasons?”
“I want you to stop blathering on and let me finish.”
They lapsed into silence as Q worked on his drawing, and Bond half sat, half lay across the sofa, mind whirring as he tried to work out if Q was annoyed at him. It wasn’t as if the younger man didn’t know, he’d made enough flirtatious jokes, and a few rather forward suggestions, that Q would take in playful stride, usually matching him step for sarcastic step, but he could so quickly veer off into some other state of mind where Bond felt it was impossible to say the right thing.
It wasn’t as though Bond himself was any good at being honest with how he felt or trusting people at their word, which may be why he had felt sure about this. Q never said it, and neither did he. They bantered and flirted and snarled their frustration at each other with the same fervour that those witnessing the exchange likely couldn’t tell the difference.
Making more direct proposals resulted in Q either playing along, delivering some snarky shutdown, or, Bond’s favourite, sputtering through denial and a flustered attempt to redirect the conversation as if there wasn’t a red tinge growing on his cheeks. And the agent couldn’t pinpoint exactly when he started seeking out the Quartermaster just to see how he’d react, or just to stand back and watch him, nor the first time he’d asked himself why he was lurking in the shadows of Q branch just to watch the boffin work.
The realisation that there was as much affection as there was attraction, that he was content simply observing, the sound of Q’s voice filling him with a warmth, it made him want more. Not necessarily fancy restaurants with dinner jackets and candles and the typical dance of romance, nor for them to end up in bed with roaming hands and mouths and heated passion, although he wouldn’t turn down either scenario if offered. But more of this.
For all the times he turned to Q to provide some distraction, some type of consolation, and the man would oblige however he could. To have Q finally come to him, almost vibrating with suppressed stress, asking for company and distraction, for help unwinding, revealing he liked to draw and paint, amusedly accepting Bond’s offer to model for him.
“I think I’m done.”
Bond hm’d, still lost in his thoughts.
“There’s still a few more details to add, but I may do that later.”
Bond smiled at him. “So, can I see?”
Q hesitated, then nodded, and Bond clambered back to his feet and crossed to the desk, picking up the drawing.
“I suppose I should have known you’d be good at art. After all, I’ve seen the designs you’ve drawn.”
“Machines and diagrams are different.” Q shrugged a shoulder. “I’m not as good with people.”
“It looks like me, so I’d say you’re good.” He studied the drawing more. “Just, one thing. What am I wearing?”
“Oh, I took a few artistic liberties.”
“I thought the point of life drawing was you draw what’s in front of you.”
“I did say you didn’t have to take your clothes off.”
Bond looked down at himself, and back up to meet Q’s oh so carefully averted eyes. “You don’t think I have a good body for drawing?”