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I Didn’t Move
I hated this part of MI6. The part where HR got pissed at the rest of us and forced M to host the annual ‘Come to Jesus’ meeting that demanded everyone’s attention for several hours. Inevitably it was a slow day and lasted for hours. Hours of ranting that I had to listen to with my co-workers and knew that no one in the damn building—except HR would—actually followed through with. I was sitting next to Q, naturally. I told him it was a combination of the fact that I wasn’t allowed to sit with any other agents anymore at these meetings and that I’d just been in his office going over new tech. He’d bought it, of course.
For a genius, Q was an idiot.
I was quite sure most of MI6 knew about my…fascination? The word isn’t quite right. Most knew that I cared for him, and I did. Alec was sure it was love…it isn’t, not yet, but the potential is there. It’s trust for me. Trust paired with curiosity and my—apparently—infamous protective nature generally developed in that direction. Normally I stopped it from doing so, but with Q…I wanted it.
Never admit I was terrified, but I craved it—him.
I craved the man that I’d practically spied on since the first time we’d met.
I don’t know anything about him, not that most people would find important to know.
I don’t know his name… He’s just Q.
I don’t know his age, but I’ve guess he’s in his mid-thirties with all of the little hints he’s given.
I don’t know if he has extended family or any at all, but I know his parents are dead.
I don’t know his favorite color.
I do know he lived on the streets during some point of his life. The way he tends to his possessions, spends so little, and gives so freely to the homeless as he walks to the tube speaks volumes. He had also mentioned to me when I’d been stranded in a forest that he’d slept in worse conditions and for a longer time: ‘Get over it, 007, I’ve lived in worse.’
I do know he loves Italian food above all else, but only eats it rarely. He doesn’t eat much at all, actually. When he does eat consistently—as ordered by the likes of Miss Moneypenny—he gets guilty about it, whether from his past homelessness or from an old eating disorder, I can’t quit tell.
I do know that he doesn’t like suits and if M would let him, he’d come into work in sleep pants and a jumper. He’d done it three times before when called in in a rush and was obviously more comfortable.
I do know he loves his Q mug and he would lose his mind if it ever broke. I suspect Boothroyd gave it to him and that he viewed the old Q as a father figure.
I know Q would much rather spend his days programing, hacking, and creating whatever he creates on his precious computers than create gadgets.
I know he loves working on missions and takes pride on making sure they go right.
I know he’s never lost an agent under his care, but Q believes M was his fault. For that reason, I know Q also has a large heart.
I know he cares about all of his agents, even if they bother the hell out of him most days and annoy him endlessly.
I know that he knows each and every one of his agents would take a bullet for him, but he’d never ask for any of us to do it.
I know that the gadgets he does create are like his children and he takes it personally when they’re hurt.
I know he has a cat, judging by the fur on the legs of his trousers some days—a dark furred one: brown or black.
I know he loves chocolate and that his favorite tea is actually a very specific brand of Oolong, but that he doesn’t often spend the money to buy it for himself. He didn’t stop smiling for a week after I secretly left some in his desk.
I know he’s dedicated, loyal, and trustworthy.
I know he’s not afraid to break rules to help get a job done if there is no other options.
I know he has the second highest rang scores in MI6.
I know he’s been trained to fight, but isn’t confident in it.
I know he’s grateful. Whenever gifts ever end up bestowed on him he is quite thankful for them.
I know he isn’t used to receiving gifts, because he’s awkward amongst his thankfulness for receiving them.
I know he’s giving and that he puts others before himself unselfishly and wholeheartedly. The proof is in his body even now. He’s too thin. His eyes are surrounded by darkness and he looks like a slight wind could push him over. It had been a week of hell for him. He hadn’t slept in days and his body had nothing left to draw from now that the mission was over. He was falling apart.
“—we’ve also gotten several complaints about certain members of the staff—” I thought M was looking at me, but he was looking at Q. “Apparently they are not properly taking care of themselves to the point where medical is frankly appalled. Everyone needs to sleep and eat occasionally, even our favorite cyborgs.”
I know Q is defiant… He was nodding off next to me, sitting up in his chair. He wasn’t going to get much from this talk. His eyes flickered closed and the tension in his shoulders melted. He looked smaller in his sleep, younger—if at all possible—and breathtaking. The constant control, calm, and authority he held while awake was gone. He looked so small, handsome, sweet, very different from the man I knew could very easily order death or cause it himself.
I know he’s beautiful—God help me I do. No agent can be completely straight-laced, but I had always been more drawn to woman… Q managed to grab my attention right from the very start.
I didn’t see his body slouch and slip in his sleep, but his head met my shoulder and he turned his nose closer, pressing it against my suit. He snores very lightly and rarely in his sleep. It’s incredibly adorable and endearing. His free hand, the one not pressed against the armrest between us, grabbed my jacket unconsciously. Was my little Q a cuddler?
The meeting lasted only a half an hour more and everyone got up and left quickly.
I didn’t move. I didn’t dare move.
Q hadn’t slept in far too long and I wasn’t going to be the one who woke him.
“Isn’t that adorable?” Alec asked quietly. I would have strangled him for taking a picture on his phone, but that would have involved waking Q. “When are you just going to tell him?” I shrugged, just my left shoulder. “James Bond is in love. It’s absolutely adorable. How can the bloody idiot of a genius not see it?” Alec scoffed and shook his head before he walked by. M and Tanner walked down from the front of the room. M glanced at me and Q.
“Don’t cock it up…if you ever happen to get the nerve.” M left, but Tanner just smiled and walked by, shutting the lights off and closing the door silently. I never wanted to say thank you to Bill more than that moment.
I wanted to turn and press my lips against his head, or put an arm around him, or rest my cheek against the top of his curls, but it was all out of the question. I didn’t know how deeply he slept and didn’t want to wake him…and it would be creepy for Q, not something I’d do to the boffin.
So I sat still in the silence, listening to him breathe, sigh, snore slightly, and even hum a little bit in his sleep. Hums of words that didn’t quite come out as anything more than indistinguishable vibrations in his chest every once in a while. He was absolutely precious and I hated to think that me and my fellow agents kept him from this, kept him from sleeping and dreaming and being peaceful.
I would be laughed at for thinking anything like this. James Bond has feelings?
Yes, I do and very few people knew they existed as everyone else’s feelings did. I just didn’t let them see the light of day, they weren’t safe there and neither were the people the feelings were attached to.
It was nearly three hours before I realized Q may feel a bit uncomfortable for sleeping in the chair for too long…or just uncomfortable that I had let him sleep so long. “Hey…Q?” I asked gently, poking his shoulder. “Hey…Q…” Q shot up straight the instant I raised my voice more than a whisper. “Hey, we’re free now.”
“Really?” Q asked, then he looked around. “Oh. I’m so sorry—”
“It is fine, Q…” I promised as he got up, fidgeting, and rubbing at his eyes.
“How long was I out?”
“Almost three hours, you needed it though.”
“God, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”
“Q, you’ve looked after me while I slept in the field, I’m sure I can return the favor.”
“This is hardly the field.” Q scoffed. “Thank you, though, really. I should go home I…don’t actually remember when I was last there. Oh my, poor Sixsmith with be furious with me.”
“Sixsmith?” I asked as he looked around, gathering his bag and heading for the door. I followed him. It was amusing to see such a normally calm person so flustered.
“My cat Rufus Six—never mind. Thank you Bond.”
“You’re welcome.”
Then Q was gone, rushing towards his office to get the rest of his things. I couldn’t help but smile before I went the other way.
Not a bad day...