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It was a quarter past midnight when Q took the bluetooth earpiece out and set it to charge on his desk. He moved his ear to his shoulder to crack the sore muscles in his neck, giving some temporary relief. It had been a good while since he left his seated position. About 8 hours ago, 005’s mission had gone completely sideways, practically glueing him to his station in order to ensure a safe outcome. Now that the adrenaline and tension had dissipated, he could feel how much it had affected him physically. His upper body was stiff, his feet asleep, and he was hungry.
Before his promotion, Q always had just enough time to pay attention to his physical condition. With a strict sleep schedule and predetermined calorie intake he had always prided himself on keeping his body in the best condition for his job. Post-promotion, his hours became increasingly irregular as he guided his agents through their missions all over the world. As a result, his routine was slacking. The little couch in his office had seen more of him than his bed at home for the past month, and he had probably developed a serious addiction to caffeine by this point.
At this thought, Q glanced down at his desk. The cold earl grey in his favourite cup looked incredibly unappealing, so he placed his fingers around the rim and lifted it to go for a refill. However, before he could turn a calloused hand took hold of the bottom of the cup.
“Let me.” A clear voice he most often heard through his bluetooth jolted him from his tired headspace.
“007.” He observed, his voice quiet and not masking his fatigue in the slightest.
“James. It’s after hours.”
Q did not repeat the name, repressing the strange desire to do so, to feel the sound of it on his lips. Only his eyes travelled upward, to stare into the ice blue pools of the agent. His fingers still gripped the top of his cup, but he’d not realised until Bond’s hand wrapped over his own to peel the finger off. The hand lingered just marginally longer than what Q expected, before the agent turned and took the cold tea to the adjoined kitchen area. Q’s eyes followed him all the way there until he was out of sight.
Once alone, he let his eyes take in the rest of the branch. At this hour, only a skeleton crew was still present, most of them now packing their bags and making space for the night-shifters. Right, he could go home now as well. Absentmindedly he closed some tabs on his laptop and sat down to prepare his post-mission report, always preferring to do so right after the particular mission had finished, instead of the next day, when important details might have become hazy.
Halfway through, a steaming cup of tea was set down in the middle of his desk, the presence of the agent once again catching him by surprise. This time, the agent was on his side of the desk, body heat radiating off of him in waves. He smelt slightly of the cheap shower gel they had at MI6, so he had most probably just finished a workout.
“Thank you.” Q whispered, not wanting to disturb the quiet post-mission atmosphere. He took the cup in both hands and let it warm his muscles. Bond responded with a low hum and proceeded to observe Q from up close.
After a couple of sips, and a hum of appreciation for getting the tea to milk ratio just right, he continued with his paperwork. Bond did not leave, but instead took up space directly behind Q’s desk chair.
The soft clicking sound of Q’s keyboard filled the space for a good couple of minutes, periodically interrupted by him taking a small sip of tea, or massaging his sore neck. The latter movement caught the agents’ attention, and while typing up his final remarks, strong fingers dug into his trapezius muscles and squeezed. Q’s face heated up, but he stayed still. He didn’t want to make known how affected he was by this. When the massaging continued and Q finished his report, he second guessed his decision to allow Bond to do this. Would he have allowed any other colleague? He briefly thought of Tanner massaging his shoulders, but thankfully a strong squeeze from Bond shook that thought from him.
“Have you eaten?” The agent asked after Q closed his laptop and silently finished his tea. This continuation of events did not ease Q’s mind, and he was dangerously close to cracking.
“I will grab something on my way-” He tried.
“Let me take you to dinner.” Bond interrupted him, turning Q’s desk chair. Their eyes met for the second time this evening.
“I highly doubt that to be an appropriate course of action.” Q stood and moved to pack up his laptop bag. Bond’s eyes followed the movements.
“Do you assume I have an ulterior motive, Q? I merely want to see to it you are healthy and well fed.” The agent stated, innocently.
An unwelcome blush crept up Q’s neck at this, causing an ever so small smirk to flash across the agents’ lips. “No- Of course this is entirely ordinary, taking your colleague out to dinner at half past midnight.” Q’s words took on a slightly accusatory tone, which of course only egged Bond on.
“You need to take good care of yourself, Quartermaster. As one of your agents this is in my best interests, of course.”
“Would you rather I pause for dinner while you hang off the side of a building, Bond?” Q circled his desk to make his way to the entrance, but to his surprise Bond caught his wrist in a quick movement.
“Of course not-”
“005 took priority this evening, everything else had to make way.” He finished his point, but did not take his arm away from the strong grip.
Bond’s thumb stroked up and down along the inside of his wrist. “Which is why now, after you delivered 005 safely to his destination, you might as well allow yourself to be taken care of.”
“I am perfectly capable of doing that myself.”
“But where’s the fun in that?” Bond’s second hand had joined the first, now steadily pressing his thumbs on the pressure points in Q’s lower arm, nudging him to relax. Q stared at the movement, utterly confused.
“I was under the impression you had no ulterior motive, Bond.”
“It’s James.”
“James.” Q repeated, albeit with a slight venomous tone. It seemed to do the trick, as Bond let go of his arm and looked at him, smirk gone.
“I’m sorry, Q. I’ll leave you to it.”
Instantly, as Q looked down at his hand still hovering in front of him exactly where the agent had held it, he regretted his decision to push Bond away. Pointless banter was their joint comfort zone, it was how they were most effective during missions, and it easily set the tone for their communication outside of missions, however little that was. Never before had Bond dropped it so suddenly, revealing to Q that his teasing had a serious undertone, that he did not want to make the other truly uncomfortable. Because he cared.
Q cleared his throat, and overstepping a barrier, he reached out to Bond’s upper arm, curling his fingers briefly around firm muscle under the soft, expensive fabric, before letting his hand fall to his side again.
“On second thought-” he started, letting their eyes meet again, where he was greeted with a much softer expression on his agents’ face. “The tube at this hour of the day would take me a dreadful amount of time to get home.”
He observed Bond bask in the turn of events for a moment, the outer corners of his eyes crinkling ever so slightly.
“Good thing I have my car with me, and I happen to know of a place that serves authentic curry all night.” Bond circled Q’s desk as well until they stood facing each other.
“That sounds delightful.” Q replied, and wondered how long his infatuation with the agent had been so blatantly obvious to the other. “I do hope your ulterior motives are more genuine than acquiring another notch on your bedpost.”
Bond chuckled and moved his hand to the small of Q’s back, guiding him to turn and move to the exit of his branch. “I know my reputation does not help to make this believable, but you mean a whole lot more to me than any mark ever did.”
“I’m glad to hear that.” Q let himself be guided to the door. “We should probably talk about this more, but right now that curry is all I care for at the moment, I’m afraid.”