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Sitting in the chair on their front porch, Q tucks the blanket more securely around his legs and over his lap. His mug of tea sits on the table by his side, steam slowly curling up from it. He has a book with him as well: Ender’s Game. It's been one of his favorites for a very long time, and he delights in reading it over and over again.
James is outside too with Beretta at his feet. The beautiful toller keeps pace with her master, the sun glinting off her red fur. Bond is using a cane now for support, one of Q’s design that has shock absorbers and works well on uneven terrain. James had given him a skeptical look at first, but he does use it more and more for longer walks.
Q sighs and sips his tea as he watches his husband and their dog. Beretta isn't getting any younger either. She's nearly ten now. His initial apprehension about having a dog has long since faded away, and he loves her as dearly as his cats. She's wonderful with James, loyal and patient and very clever. She always goes with James when he walks which, though Q has never said it aloud, comforts him. He worries about James.
Twenty-five years they've been married and living in Wales. More than twenty-five years since they both retired and decided they were done with Six and being spies, since James had slipped the ring on his finger and said, “Name the time and place.” He absently thumbs his wedding ring as James throws a stick for Beretta to fetch.
It's startling to remember that James's blond hair is now a pale white/blond, and even from this distance, his posture is a little stooped. James is still strong and healthy and fit, but he does have a bit of a belly. Q loves that belly, though James had been less than pleased when he'd needed larger trousers. To Q it speaks of contentment and safety. James feels safe enough to relax and let down. He doesn't have to be a perfect machine. He can be human.
They're coming back towards the porch, so Q studies James's face as he approaches with Beretta. He certainly looks more like a grandfather now with the wrinkles around his eyes and mouth. He even has jowls where the skin on his jaw is slackening in his age. And his ears… Q adores his ears. They do stick out more for certain. His own are still hidden in his dark and silver hair. He hasn't lost any or gone bald; it's just begun turning more and more silver.
He doesn't spend as many hours in his shed tinkering anymore. His eyes won't focus as well as they used to, and his reflexes have slowed that another Kettle incident could result in worse than singed eyebrows. He's reading more, sitting more. He loves watching James putter about the garden and the bird feeders. Q could spend hours simply watching James Bond.
He smiles at James as the man steps up the porch and comes to join him. Their chairs are close enough for them to hold hands and for Beretta to sit at both their feet.
“You look far away,” James murmurs, kissing Q’s hand. “What's on your mind?”
“You. Us. Happy anniversary, James.”
“Happy anniversary, Simon. Do you want to read?”
“Are you up for listening?”
There's something inscrutable and vulnerable in James's eyes. “I could listen to you read forever.”
Smiling, Q picks up the book and opens to the first page