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A loud, insistent banging reverberated around Q’s flat, to his annoyance. Just one bloody night of peace. Is that too much to ask for? He thought irritably as he pulled his tie off and tossed it on top of his jacket lying on the bed. Forced dinners with his mother always put his blood pressure through the roof; thankfully, his parents would be out of the country for his birthday.
“Yes, I’m coming,” he snapped as he opened the bedroom door to a loud confrontation inside his flat. Oh shit! He hurried downstairs to be brought up short by a bloody and barely conscious James Bond in his entrance hallway.
“Ah, there you are,” Adam started to say as Q dashed down the last few steps, only to be cut off.
“Who the bloody hell are you, and why are you in Q’s flat?” Bond’s snarl echoed around the room. He often came to Q after a particularly rough assignment and clearly, tonight was no exception. His words were slurred, the brilliant blue of his eyes flat and dull, and he was holding himself far too stiffly for Q’s peace of mind.
“James–” he laid his hand on the agent’s arm carefully “it’s all right, he’s allowed to be here.” The older man looked like he had the weight of the world on his broad shoulders. In some ways, Q figured he did.
“Who is he then?” James slurred, only pure damn stubbornness keeping him on his feet. The other man resembled Q far too much not to be related. No glasses or ugly cardigans, James finally realised, but his brain remained stubbornly uncooperative.
“He’s my brother, James.” Q put his hand out and motioned him forward. “James, I’d like you to meet my brother, Adam.” James' brilliant blue eyes studied one man, then the other. A frown marred his forehead as he shook his head.
“Adam?” James said, puzzled, testing the name on his lips. “He looks like you,” James replied to Q’s slight smile.
“Yes, that’s the thing with identical twins,” Adam couldn’t help his snaky reply. “We do tend to look alike.”
Before Bond could retaliate with his own sharp tongue, his body betrayed him, and he swayed on his feet, the loss of blood finally making itself known. Both men rushed to his aid, steadying him to stop an undignified face plant on the carpet.
Adam pulled his hand away to find it covered in dull red, sticky blood, a sight with which he was far too familiar. He knew a little of what his brother did and had heard stories of James Bond and his various exploits, but somehow it always seemed like a Boy’s Own Adventure, not real life.
“He’s bleeding,” Adam said, holding up his blood-smeared hand. Q just nodded, unsurprised. “He needs stitches.”
“What would you know about it?” Bond demanded. His vision blurred, and his temper frayed. He was in no mood to play nice.
“More than you, I would imagine,” Adam snapped back, eyes blazing fury as he stared the larger, older agent down.
“James,” Q says quietly, pulling James’ attention back to him. “Adam is a doctor. Let him help?”
“What sort of doctor?” James slurred. The only thing keeping him upright at the moment was the grip they had on his arms. “Don’t want you fainting at the sight of blood.” He snorted at his joke.
“Brats and twats,” Adam replied to a puzzled look from both Q and Bond. “Obs and Gynae,” he continued with a long-suffering sigh. Still nothing. Adam sighed and explained, “Obstetrics and gynaecology. I’m an obstetrician.” James couldn’t control his bark of laughter, which immediately got Adam’s back up. “Have you ever seen a baby being born?” James shook his head. “There is a lot more blood than most people think, particularly when I have to cut the mother open to get the baby out.”
James couldn’t quite help his grimace of distaste, ironic considering how often he had been stitched up, both by the doctors in medical and himself, on numerous occasions.
“Come on, let’s take him upstairs,” Q ordered. “I don’t want him bleeding all over my hallway carpet again, thank you very much.” With a good deal of prodding and shoving, they managed to get James into Q’s bathroom.
“Sit,” Q said, pushing James down onto the closed toilet lid. “There’s a first aid kit in the kitchen. Would you grab it for me so I can stitch him up?” Q asked. Adam let out a snort of disgust. “What?”
“You’re going to sew him up. Seriously, Ben?” Adam queried. “You’ve got a qualified doctor in the house and you’re going to sew him up?” Grumbling about idiot brothers, Adam walked out of the bathroom into the guest room he was currently occupying. He was back a few minutes later with a ratty old backpack, which he unzipped before pulling out various bits and pieces.
“Don’t touch,” Adam snapped, slapping Bond’s hand as he reached out to inspect the instruments that Adam was laying out in neat rows on a towel. Once he was satisfied, he turned to the two men.
“Come on, let’s get you undressed so we can see what we’re working with.” Bond didn’t resist as Q slipped off his jacket to reveal a shoulder holster, the grip of James' palm coded Walther PPK visible under his left arm, and an entirely ruined blood-soaked shirt.
Adam caught a slight shake of Ben’s head as a million questions sprang into Adam’s mind, but now was not the time. Q dragged Bond’s tie off. It was also completely ruined and slipped his cuff links out of his sleeves, laying them in a small dish. He unholstered James’ gun, checking the safety was on, laid it on the vanity and removed the shoulder holster as delicately as he could to Bond’s grunt of pain. Q unbuttoned James’ shirt and gingerly pulled it away from his body. James hissed as the fabric stuck to the cut over his ribs and Q tossed it in the bathtub. It was beyond repair, but Q didn’t want blood stains all over his bathroom floor.
“Adam,” Bond spoke slowly as if trying out the name. “And Ben.” He nodded to Q, who just rolled his eyes. Of course, the damn man had picked up on Adam using Q’s real name. “A and B,” Bond snorted as the joke finally hit him.
“Yes, James, A and B,” Q answered quietly, smiling slightly upon hearing his real name on the agent's lips for the first time.
“Who is older?” James asked, clearly not willing to let it go.
“Me,” Adam said, snapping on latex gloves and looking up at James. “By six minutes. Can you hold your arm up?” he ordered. Bond deliberately held up his left arm while Adams glowered in annoyance.
“Do you really want to piss off the man about to stitch you up?” he inquired, holding up a wicked-looking surgical needle.
“I don’t see why you should get special treatment,” Q said dryly. “He has no self-preservation whatsoever.” Bond tried to glare at Q, but he couldn’t carry it off just then. “I’ll get the vodka.”
“Vodka?” Adam asked, puzzled as he sterilised the needle.
“Best pain killer available,” Bond slurred in response to Adam’s very noticeable sigh.
“I highly doubt that,” he replied to Bond’s feral grin.
“It is when you’ve drunk half a bottle, off you go, Q.” He waved Q out of the bathroom to Adam’s snort.
“I promise you I have far better pain killers than half a bottle of vodka,” he rummaged around in his bag and pulled out a blister pack and popped two out but held them out of Bond’s reach. “No, these are for later to make you sleep, and that glare won’t work on me.” Q walked back into the bathroom and handed Bond the ice-cold vodka and gave his brother a small, apologetic smile. Adam did not return it.
“How does your liver survive that?” he asked, astonished as Bond uncapped the vodka. Bond just shrugged and took another drink.
“Oh fuck!” he snarled and hissed in pain when Adam swiped the deep cut along Bond’s ribs with a swab drenched in something that stung more than whatever they normally used.
“I highly doubt you’re in any condition for that,” Adam replied. “Now hold still.” Bond did as much as he could, but he wasn’t able to prevent himself from twitching. As a surgeon, Adam’s stitches were far neater than Q’s would ever be. The time it took him to stitch up James' side still felt like an eternity. By the time he’d finished, Bond was gripping the edge of the bathroom windowsill, his knuckles white from the strain. He didn’t complain, though, about the new row of stitches adorning his body.
Adam and Q both checked Bond for any other injuries, but the worst was a few scrapes and bruises that would be dark purple by tomorrow.
“A shower is out of the question, but I can give a passable sponge bath?” Adam suggested, “At the very least, you’ll be clean?” Bond nodded slowly. He wasn’t a modest man, and at the moment a wash trumped a work friend and his brother seeing him naked.
Being covered in blood and grime from rolling around on the ground was humiliating enough. Given that the blood was mostly his own, he didn't want to ruin the sheets when he'd finally managed to crawl into bed.
“Thank you, Nurse Adam,” James smirked, falling back on snark in reaction to Adam’s raised eyebrow.
“You’re right about one thing, Ben,” Adam said, glaring at the agent. “No damn self-preservation. Get me some soap and towels.” Q stepped into the hallway and grabbed fresh towels from the linen cupboard before walking into the bathroom a second later to find Bond on his feet as Adam slipped his leather belt from his trousers and lowered them, leaving Bond in black briefs and a tired smile.
“He’s known me for half an hour and already has my trousers off,” Bond quipped while Q chuckled. Adam gave James’ leg an annoyed slap before tugging off his shoes and socks so he could get the trousers off. Those he tossed into the tub with a wet splat.
One humiliating sponge bath later, James stood clean, dry and bundled in a dark blue dressing gown as Q wrapped an arm around James’ waist and directed him to his bedroom.
“This way, Bond, you’re not going home in that condition,” Q ordered, easily slipping back into quartermaster mode. He worried far too much about all his agents, but James Bond had a special place in Q’s heart. However, he would never admit it.
“So, this is what it takes to get into your bed?” Bond asked cheekily, but Q knew his heart wasn’t really in it. “I would have got myself stitched up earlier.” Q snorted at that.
“You have, on numerous occasions, normally bleeding all over my floor!” Q gave James a light shove and he dropped onto the bed. Grabbing his feet, Q managed to get James under the covers and Adam handed him the pain killers and a glass of water. Dutifully, James swallowed them, too sore and tired to argue over the drugs. He quickly dropped off to sleep.
Q tried to ignore his brother’s all too knowing glances, but Adam always would use those lousy six minutes to his full advantage, and the years have not changed anything. Leaving the bedroom door slightly ajar, Q went back to the bathroom to clean up the bloodstains. Past experience told him how difficult they were to remove once they had set. He bundled James' ruined clothing into a plastic bag, but he doubted they could be salvaged. Adam stood at the bathroom door, watching his brother in silence as he cleaned the bathroom.
“So,” Adam drew the word out to at least three syllables. “That’s James Bond?”
“Don’t start, Adam,” Q warned his brother with a glare. Adam just grinned back, unrepentant.
“I’ve no idea what you mean!” His innocent look was lost on Q. He was immune.
“The hell you don’t,” Q snapped at the end of his tether. “Please, Adam, don’t start. I’m not in the mood after listening to Mother complain about our lifestyle choices for four hours. Q air-quoted their mother’s all too common complaint about her son’s sexuality.
“Sorry, Ben, or is that Q?” he asked, only just dodging the cloth Q threw at him as they both headed downstairs, and Q made a beeline for the kitchen. After all the excitement of tonight, he needed a drink.
“Oh, shut up,” Q grumbled laughingly and handed over a glass of whiskey. Then they both collapsed onto Q’s soft, comfortable green leather couch and put their feet up on the coffee table. Grinning at each other at the small rebellion; their mother would have had a fit.
“Does he often show up on your doorstep at this time of night bleeding all over you?” Adam asked. Q snorted out a tired laugh and nodded.
“Yes, more than you’d think, considering we have a fully staffed, top-of-the-line medical unit at work. Honestly, if you ever want to give up delivering babies and start patching up a bunch of adrenaline junkies, I can put in a good word for you.” Q was serious too; his brother was a brilliant doctor and MI6 was always in need of medical staff; the agents tended to frighten them away.
“Do all your adrenaline junkies look like that?” Adam asked, not bothering to hide his interest.
“What? Covered in knife wounds and bullet holes?” Q replied, unable to keep the annoyance out of his voice. Naturally, Adam picked up on it and smirked at his brother.
“Well, there are all those muscles and acres of tanned, if scarred, skin,” Adam sipped his drink, one eyebrow arched in a challenge. They had always been hugely competitive with each other. Adam wasn’t interested in James. He wasn’t his type; however, he was exactly what Ben needed.
“Yes, and a tendency to cause international diplomatic incidents and blow things up, quite often himself,” Q grumbled, taking a sip of his drink. “The man honestly has no idea of self-preservation.”
“Yes, you’ve said that. However, he comes to you at eleven at night with a knife wound over his ribs, instead of seeking out qualified medical help?” Adam just smirked at the annoyed glare his brother shot his way. “There is more there than just work colleagues,” Adam dodged the pillow Q threw at him. “You need to take the risk and make a move, worst he can do is say no,”
“And if he doesn’t?” Q asked, sounding genuinely worried as he looked up at his brother, biting on his lower lip in nervousness.
“Then I suspect you’re in for the ride of your life, and just imagine how much he will annoy our mother if she could not accept Harry and me?” while Adam’s ex-fiancé, Harry, was a lovely man, and he had gotten on fabulously with Ben, their mother had not been as accepting. She would have a heart attack faced with James Bond when he was on the full charm offensive.
Q could not help his giggle at the thought, which soon escalated to a laugh, then to a full of fit of hysterics. Both men’s stomachs ached, and tears rolled down their faces. It had been far too long since either had laughed like that.
“Thank you, Adam,” Q smiled over at his brother. Adam just shrugged.
“You really should take your older brother’s advice and make a move on James. I doubt he is as against the idea as you seem to think,” Adam saluted Q with his glass and took a sip.
By one o’clock, both men were pleasantly drunk and yawning at regular intervals. Climbing to his feet, Q pulled spare blankets and pillows from the large Ottoman he used as a coffee table and shooed his brother off the couch so he could make it up.
“Let me wash up and grab my pyjamas and I’ll let you get some sleep.” Q hurried upstairs, used the loo, and cleaned his teeth. He carefully sneaked into his room and took a few minutes to take in the sight of James Bond fast asleep in his bed. It was something he could get used to. Carefully sliding open a drawer, Q grabbed a pair of tartan sleep pants and a long sleeve t-shirt and quietly slipped from the room.
Just before Q exited the room, two sleepy blue eyes popped open and watched him quietly sneak out again. James had been acutely aware of the minute Q had pushed the door open. While whatever Adam had given him and made James sleep, they were not strong enough to overpower his survival instinct, and in a strange room, it was still on high alert. He felt immeasurably better than what he did before. The painkillers and a few hours of sleep had done wonders. The stitches over his ribs still pulled and the thick bandage wrapped around his midsection was itchy, but all in all, James felt better than he had in months.
Of course, now that he was awake, so was James’ bladder and with a muffled curse he tossed back the covers and slipped the dressing gown back on again, the room was chilly, and padded silently across the carpeted floor and pulled the door the rest of the way open, stepping out onto the small landing. He could hear Adam and Q talking downstairs and he was the topic of discussion. James would have liked to continue eavesdropping for a lot longer. Unfortunately, his bladder had other urgent ideas, and he headed swiftly toward the bathroom.
Opening the bathroom door, James was met with Adam, leaning against the wall in the upstairs hallway, blocking James’ way and levelling him with an unfriendly glare. James just quirked an eyebrow in question and waited. It didn’t take long.
“I’m assuming you heard all that?” Adam nodded down the stairs to where he and Ben had been talking. James just nodded. There was no point denying it. “What are you going to do about it?” Adam demanded, crossing his arms over his chest, and not budging.
“What business is it of yours?” James asked, also not moving as Adam advanced on him.
“He’s my brother, and I’m not going to stand by and watch you break his heart.” Adam snapped, anger flashing in his eyes. "I may not be an international spy, but I promise you, you hurt him, and I’ll make you regret it.”
James just nodded in understanding and Adam turned on his heel, disappeared into Q’s guest bedroom, and slammed the door.
“Well,” James muttered to the empty hallway, “That was interesting.” he climbed back into Q’s bed and dropped off to sleep, dreaming of Q and what the future may hold for them.