Chapter Text
„Get a flat Bond. “ That’s how it all starts.
Problem is, the agent doesn’t really care about that right now. He doesn’t care about much right at that moment other than finally getting out of Mallory’s office and preferably out of MI6 all together, but that’ll have to wait as well. So he just stands there in front of Mallory’s desk, hands behind his back, waiting for the man to finally finish. Which he does, eventually and Bond is allowed to leave with a dismissive hand gesture. The wooden door falls shut behind him with a soft click and James has to take a breath. Well then, that went well, he thinks sarcastically to himself, except for the fact that M- Olivia- is still dead, Mallory is trying or better yet has actually taken her place, he has been suspended from active duty until further notice and now he has to get himself a bloody flat as well. He looks up and sees Eve writing something on her computer and gets an idea. He walks casually over to her, leans against her desk, next to where she’s working and crosses his arms over his chest, waiting for her to acknowledge him. When she does look up to meet his gaze, he lets one of his charming smiles play around his lips before asking, “Want to go flat hunting for me?” She looks a bit bewildered before going back to typing on her computer.
“Hello James. Nice to see you. How are you? Oh, really me too, thanks for asking. Is there something I can help you with?” She is still typing something into her document and Bond rolls his eyes. “Hello, Eve.”, he says, drawing out her name but cuts short the rest. She swirls around on her chair, facing him again. “So you want me to go flat hunting for you. Why?”, she asks, a mischievous smile playing around her lips because she very well knows why. “I just can’t be bother and I want Mallory of my back.” She nods. “Alright then.” She know where he’ll be going. What he’ll be doing. She actually knows him quite well, James muses as he looks at her. He might even be able to consider her a friend, a friend he had sex with, but a friend none the less. At least she understands.
So he pushes himself of the desk and is on his way to leave when Eve calls after him. “Anything special?”, she asks, looking after him, concern written over her face. James just shakes his head. “No, just get me something. I really don’t care.” With that he opens the door and leaves to find himself some booze and quiet. It’s only two weeks later when Eve finds him at the shooting range. He is just emptying out another magazine, blowing holes into the target at the end of the range, when her heels click against the concrete floor. James doesn’t hear her getting close, as his earmuffs are still in place, so he is quite taken aback, when someone starts speaking when the magazine is empty and his earmuffs have been discarded.
“Looks like you’re back on track.”, she comments and walks over to stand next to him. James knows she still feels guilty about what happened, but he doesn’t blame her. He never did. He pushes a new magazine into the gun, before he turns around to look at her. “So what brings you here?”, he asks, laying the gun on the wall of beige sandbags lining the range. He hears the clinking of keys and soon after he sees Eve waving a set of keys in front of his nose. She smiles at him and swirls the keys on her finger.
“I found you this really nice place close to work and I’m really considering whether I shouldn’t move into it, rather than you. You won’t cherish it anyway.” Bond snatches the keys from Eve’s finger and grins at her. “Well, I guess as you’ve rented the place under my name and blew my money on it there really is no other way. I’ll just have to take it and I won’t have you moving in with me. Even though you’d be a nice view in the morning.” The agent grins at her and Eve laughs. “No, we really wouldn’t want that, would we.” She whips a tear from the corner of her eye before straitening up again. “Well, anyways, if you need anything else, you know where to find me.” Bond smirk grows at her comment. “Is that an offer, Miss Moneypenny?” He buries his hands in the pockets of his suit trousers and his body language changes from tense and ready to seductive. He raises an eyebrow in question when Eve’s eyes meet his. “No, James, you idiot.” She leaves then, but before she reaches the door she turns around again. “Oh and I expect you to take me out for drinks or something for all the trouble I went through.” And then she’s gone, the clicking of her heels echoing in the range.
Eve is just out of the door when Q passes her and enters the room, a clipboard in hand. “Oh, is it Make a Wish Day today? Can I wish for you to bring your equipment back in one piece next time? That’d be lovely double-oh-seven.“ Q walks over to him, looking down at his clipboard. “I can try, but no promises.” Q shakes his head and looks up from his notes. “You know, you could really try to be more considerate. Do you know how long Q-Branch works on one of these damn toys that all of you like to destroy or lose or even misuse? No, you don’t. Now let me see the gun.”
Bond picks up the gun and hands it over to Q, his finger shortly brushing over the smooth pale skin at Q’s wrist. But Q seems not to have noticed and looks at the gun instead, having discarded his clipboard. “So, how did you like it? Better than the Walther?”, he asks, taking the safety off. Q positions himself as if to shoot, his bum prominent as the fabric of his trousers stretch. Bond is taken aback when the shot hits right in the centre of the targets head. The shot would have been a kill without a doubt.
“I like how the stabilizer works now.”, Q muses and clicks the safety back in place, before lying the gun back onto the wall of bags. “Bond, your opinion.” But James is still a bit stunned by what happened so it isn’t a surprise that the first words out of his mouth are an “Uhm, yes…” which are followed by a more elaborate “ I still like the Walther better to be honest. The grip feels better and I’ve somewhat gotten used to it.” Q nods, scribbling notes onto his clipboard. “Good, I’ll program this gun for double-oh-nine then and assign a new Walther to you.” He looks up at James and rolls his eyes. “And can you please refrain from looking like an utter idiot, double-oh-seven? The look really doesn’t suit you.”
“Yes, sir”, James responds, suddenly back in his element, momentary bewilderment forgotten. The Quartermaster shakes his head again. “You know, you are a prat, right?”, Q asks, his gaze meeting James. “People say it’s part of my charm”, he replies and grins at the younger man. Q smiles at him, his green-grey eyes studying the agents face. “Whatever you say, double-oh-seven.” He averts his eyes, scribbles one last thing on his clipboard and then Q his gone and James stands in the shooting range alone.
He decides that it would be a good idea to check out the flat Eve has gotten him. Bond cringes when he sees the address in St. James. Eve probably found the detail funny. But she hadn’t been lying. If he’d care for the tube there would only be three stations separating him from his destination. Instead he decides to walk the distance. The closer he gets to his destination, the nicer the houses surrounding him look. And when he finally reaches the building housing his new flat, he is rather impressed by Eye’s pick.
It’s a multi-storey building with a white historic façade. The key slides into the lock, he enters his access code and the door gives way to a plain hallway. Wooden floor, white walls, moulding ceiling design. The stairs look worn and old, but James finds this detail oddly charming about the place. It looks like it’s the same staircase from centuries ago.
The takes the stairs to the second floor and finds two door leading off of the landing. A doormat is lying in front of one of the doors, so it doesn’t take Sherlock Holmes to figure out which of the two would be his flat.
Another key slides into another lock, he enters another code and then James stands inside his flat for the first time. He is greeted by a wide open space. It’s clearly his living room as Eve has even managed to sparsely furnish the place. A large brown leather sofa dominates most of the place in front of the fireplace. There is even a TV tucked into one corner of the room.
A kitchen island divides the space and gives a nice view of the white high polished cupboards and grey marble worktops of his kitchen. A bottle filled with amber liquid stands on the kitchen island, a card leaning against it. James picks it up and recognizes Eve’s loopy handwriting.
I hope you like the place. You’ll have to get your stuff yourself though. Make yourself at home.-E
He smiles and puts the card back onto the counter, before unscrewing the cap of the bottle and taking a sip. It’s a rich, smooth flavour that fills his mouth. No doubt a rather expensive whiskey, James thinks and it’s disappointed when he read its name on the label.
He inspects the master bedroom with a nice king size bed in it as well as his en suite bathroom. He is really quite happy with Eve’s pick. Taking another swig from the bottle, he sits down on the sofa and toes of his shoes.
James lies there for a long time. The sun sets and dip the room in flaming oranges and reds which slowly fade and give way to darkness. He is still laying there by midnight, bottle half empty, when he falls asleep.
The next morning he is woken by a loud thudding noise. At first James can’t place where it’s coming from as he looks sleepily around the flat. The banging continues and eventually he spots the cat sitting on his windowsill. The cat’s fur is grey, beige and white and it’s just sitting there, banging its little head against the windowpane. James muses whether the cat suffers from mental problems and gets up, moving closer to the window to inspect the cat. Halfway across the room the cat stops its banging and sits back. When he stands in front of the window the cat sits back on his hinge legs and puts its front paws against the windowpane, looking intelligently up at James. It looks like the cat wants to open the window, the way it’s pushing its paws against the glass.
He opens the window, not to let the cat in, but to shoo it away. The cat though looks at him and tries to sneak past him anyway. “Oh no, you won’t”, James says and blocks the cats way. He grabs it by its fur and sits it back on the windowsill. The cat hisses at him, tiny fangs bared and saunters of to the windowsill of his neighbour with a jump of feline grace.
James stands at the still open window and rubs his hands over his face. He can’t believe he just talked to a bloody cat and shuts the window. There is very definitely something wrong with him.
After that incident he gets dressed and decides to head to MI6 to get in a good, long workout. After he is done with that he takes a good long shower and gets dress. Deciding to head down to Q-Branch he, stops by the kitchen and snatches a freshly brewed cup of tea for Q. Maybe he can bribe him to let him test another gun or some new explosive. But when he finally reaches the Quartermaster’s bunker, he sees that Q isn’t alone. Alec is standing by Q’s workstation and the Quartermaster himself is seething.
“The gun run over by the tank, your radio at the bottom of a blasted river and then you just think it would be fun to cause an explosion which wouldn’t have needed to happen. You were save. The mission was completed and you still had to blow up the entire thing! Why Double-Oh Six?” Alec shrugs still standing calmly by the Quartermaster’s workstation. The minions around are openly staring.
“I really don’t understand how you all can be so careless with your gadgets! They are the tools of your fucking trait! It would be the same if I’d blow up my computer every time I’d finish a bloody algorithm, virus or program. Do I do it? NO! Does it sound ridiculous? Yes, it does! Now, leave!” Alec looks at Q one last time, then turns around and leaves without having said a word. There is a mischievous grin on his face when he passes Bond and the agent can’t help but shake his head at his friend. Alec loves explosions. No wonder he had blown up the complex even though there was no need to.
Bond sets the cup of tea down next to Q’s keyboard. The Quartermaster’s fingers fly over the keys leaving behind lines and lines of code the agent can’t make sense of.
“No, Double-Oh Seven, don’t even think about asking.”, Q says without looking up. But Bond doesn’t leave. He thinks that now that he is here, he can at least enjoy the view, because the Quartermaster is always a view to behold, with his lean build and the sharp edges, his intelligence and his no-nonsense attitude towards everyone. So he stands there, arms crossed over his chest, a few paces behind Q and watches the Quartermaster work.
“Can’t you go and bother someone else, Bond?”, Q asks and turns around, looking straight at the agent, the Quartermaster’s sharp green-grey eyes trained on him. “No, not really”, Bond responds and grins. His eyes roaming over the Quartermasters figure as it is nonchalantly draped against the edge of his workbench. “It’s always interesting down here.”, the agent adds and raises on eyebrow.
“Just enjoying the view then, I see. Well go ahead then.”, Q says and turns back around, fingers once more dancing over the keys.
It takes a second cup of tea and another half an hour before Q drags Bond down to his workshop, handing him a phone.
“No, it doesn’t explode.”, Q cuts him short and Bond looks a bit disappointed at his Quartermaster. “But wouldn’t that have been a great idea. An exploding phone. Lots of space for explosives.” The younger man sighs, takes of his glasses and rubs over the bridge of his nose. “No, it wouldn’t be for various reasons, but that’s beside the point.” Q places his glasses back on his nose and pushes them back, before looking at Bond. “This little device can send a signal which will interfere with every hostile communication line. It can cut of an area of 100 yards from every Wi-Fi and the phone network. It can interfere with the signal of wireless cameras and if you connect it to a computer it can do minor things like hacking passwords and the like. It also gives me direct access to the computer. You should get to know this device as it may come in handy in future missions.” The younger man places the device in Bond’s hand, fingertips brushing over Bond’s inner wrist. “And please make sure that you bring it back, because you don’t even want to know how much money that tiny thing costs.” The agent looks owlishly down at the gadget, knowing that this won’t be fun. He had wanted a gun or some explosives not some lesson on new tech.
But an hour passes, in which Q explains the most important features of the tech and Bond doesn’t mind so much anymore, because the Quartermaster’s mood seems to steadily grow better.
“You know you really are a prat, right? Now bugger off, you’ve been keeping me long enough.” The younger man smiles. Bond’s ice blue eyes meet Q’s again and the agent smiles back. “You said so, yes. Thank you for the interesting tech lesson. I really should consider annoying you more often for more lessons. I like having you to myself.”
“Oh, fuck off.”, Q says, his eyes already back on a new prototype. The agent leaves, but a small smile keeps him company for the rest of the day.
The next morning James wakes up to the first rays of sunlight falling through his window. He sits up, looks at the alarm clock on the bedside table and sighs, rubbing his hands over his face. It’s still way too early but he gets up anyway. Usually, when he’s been put on leave, James has the habit to sleep in and enjoy the extra sleep that he never gets when he is on a mission.
He swings his legs out of bed and looks out of the window, when he spots the cat from yesterday, sitting on his windowsill, looking at him. Its intelligent green eyes flowing his movements as he gets out of bed and makes his way out of the room.
Eve really has thought of everything he needs. Coffee, toast, eggs and some milk. He’ll have to get his things today though. He should also probably have a trip to the next grocery store and stock up. He is just about to sit down at the kitchen island to have breakfast when the same thudding noise echoes through his flat.
The cat has moved from the bedroom windowsill to the one at his living room window where he found it yesterday.
The noise stops after the third thud, but is replaced by a steady meowing and scratching. He gets up, wanting to shoo the cat off his windowsill again, when the cat stops its work on the windowpane and looks at James again. Paws still resting against the window the cat crocks its head and looks at him with interest. “What the hell”, James mutters under his breath as he looks at the cat, staring back at him. He opens the window and tries to block the cat’s way into his flat but this time the cat is faster. With a graceful jump and a soft thud it lands on the flats wooden floor and saunters off.
“Oh no”, he hisses after the cat and instantly is in pursuit, but the cat jumps over various articles of furniture and has James stumbling once. When he looks up the feline devil is already out of sight. He sighs, rubs his hands over his face and presses the heels of his hands into his eyes. This just can’t be real. He goes back to his breakfast though as he thinks the bloody cat isn’t worth the hassle. He’ll just deal with it later.
After breakfast he decides to go get his things from the hotel room first. I’ll shoot the damn cat if it scratches its claws on any of the new furniture, he thinks as he closes the door.
When he comes back laden with his bags full of clothes and groceries though, there is no signs of cat violence against his furniture. There is no sign of the feline at all. So James packs away the groceries and puts his clothes into the walk in closet.
When he walks back into the living room in want of a good drink from the bottle still at the foot of the sofa, he finds the cat curled up on said sofa. Eyes closed, tail swishing slightly over the smooth leather. Instead of shooing the cat of the sofa though, James crouches down in front of the cat and studies it. It’s got a weird tattoo like square in its right ear and he is almost certain, that it’s some kind of QR-Code. But who would tattoo a cat a QR-Code onto its ear? Otherwise the cat seems perfectly normal. White and beige and grey and black. The cat shortly purrs in its sleep, but James gets up and goes about his business, the cat sleeping on the sofa.
Later in the evening he heads out to MI6 to get his other things out of storage as well as to speak to his landlord about the parking facilities of the building. By the time he gets back laden with two boxes, its past midnight.
James turns on the light and is greeted by a pair of intelligent green eyes staring up at him. The cat happily meows and saunters around his ankles as he puts down the boxes next to the front door. “What?”, he asks the cat, but the creature just keeps meowing and following him around unfortunately not answering his question. Half an hour later he is making himself some pasta with tomato and tuna fish sauce when the cat loses its patience and jumps up onto the countertop next to the stove, interestedly sniffing the sauce simmering on the hob. He shoves the cat away from the pan, but the cat just keeps coming back. “What”, he asks again before he realizes that the creature might be hungry as well. Reluctantly he puts the rest of his canned tuna fish onto a saucer and places it on the tiled floor in one corner of the kitchen. The cat eagerly follows him and devours the tuna fish. James goes back to his own late night meal, studying the cat from afar as he eats.
Only six hours later the agent gets a call, tearing him from his dreams. His leave ends at 7:48 that morning as he is ordered to come to MI6 instantly, so he can leave for his mission at ten that morning.
The cat his rolled up at the foot of James’s bed, still sleeping, when he grips it by its fur at the base of its neck and carries it over to the window, throwing it open and setting the bewildered looking creature on the windowsill. “Sorry, not sorry”, he say and throws the window shut while getting into his trousers.
He gets to MI6 at 8:10 am and only barely makes his flight to Prague, but he does. Q is the helpful little voice in his ear for the entirety of the mission, which goes surprisingly smooth. By the end of it the Quartermaster is probably fuming, like always, as Bond has managed to lose one more of his precious gadgets and has “an unnecessary bullet wound to his thigh” as Q has put it. It’s only a bullet graze so not really a big deal, but Q seemed to be upset about it nonetheless.
It doesn’t surprise Bond when he is hauled away to Medical upon his arrival back at MI6, even though he deems the whole ordeal unnecessary. He had already cleaned and bandaged the wound back in Prague and all that is left for his body to do is heal, but Medical won’t listen. So he finds himself lying in one of the beds in Medical with a doctor and a nurse fussing over him like he is mortally wounded. He is very annoyed and wants to sneak out like he always does when no one is looking when Q enters the room.
“Who do you think you are, disobeying me like that? I bloody well am your superior, even though none of you treat me like it.” The agent opens his mouth to answer, but Q doesn’t let him.
“No, you don’t, Bond. Don’t even think about it.” The Quartermaster sits down in the chair by his bedside, looking up at the older man where he is still sitting on the edge of the bed feet dangling in the air.
“Can I improve your mood by saying that I brought back these?”, Bond asks and hands Q his Walther and his radio. The younger man studies the gun and the radio, seeing the scratches and chipped corners, but when he looks up to meet Bonds gaze, there is a small smile playing around his lips.
“Trying to impress me, are you? You know that will only get you so far, right?” Q‘s smile grows and Bond can’t help respond with, “Always, my esteemed Quartermaster.” They laugh together but Q sobers pretty quickly. “You know that this could have ended a very different way, right? After your stupid stunt I had to mobilize all resources I had to get you out of there alive. If I hadn’t, you wouldn’t have gotten out of there with your leg.” Bond sobers instantly. “What?”, he exclaims a bit gobsmacked, looking at the younger man who is still watching him. “There were more than the five men you got past on your way out. I got rid of another fifteen for you. Closed doors, cut off comms and one or two times a bit too much pressure on the pipes, which then exploded in their faces. So maybe you’ll think about getting shot again twice next time, because even I won’t be able to save your arse every time you do decide that it’s a good idea.” Bond is speechless. He knows that Q has his back all the time, he knows his Quartermaster would do everything in his power to get his agents out of the field alive, what he had never really thought about, was exactly how much he sometimes did depend on the younger man. It becomes frighteningly clear to him in that moment, that this mission probably hadn’t been the first time Q had saved his arse big time and had never said a word about it.
The younger man gets up, seemingly wanting to leave. “Q”, Bond says, shuffling down the edge of the bed, his feet hitting the ground. The Quartermaster turns back to look at Bond, who wants to take a step towards him, keeping him from leaving, when a searing hot pain shoots up his leg, spreading up into his abdomen and the agent wavers. Q is right there, his arm around Bond’s waist, steadying him as Bond’s hand grips Q’s shoulder, knuckles turning white and probably hurting the other man in the progress. The pain subsides slowly, retreating back to the aching throb in his thigh.
The agent looks up, meeting green-grey eyes only inches away and in an instant Bond is very aware of how close they are. Q’s arm tightens around his waist and Bond’s gaze shifts to those lips. Those red lips Q tends to lick whenever he is nervous. The pink tip of a tongue shows for a second as the younger man does just that and Bond feels his hunger for the other man grow. He meets Q’s gaze again, knowing that his intentions are showing on his face.
But instead of it all proceeding in the direction Bond would have preferred, the arm around his waist vanishes and Q takes a step back, the agent’s hand falling back to his side.
“Get some rest, Double-Oh Seven.”, Q says and inclines his head. Seconds later the door to his room falls shut.
Medical does discharge him reluctantly and James goes home, gets into bed and falls asleep. When he wakes up the next morning, sunlight is streaming through the window and a familiar cat is sitting on his windowsill, one paw resting against the windowpane.
James buries his face in his pillow, wanting to get back to sleep when the frantic scratching starts. He groans and mumbles something unintelligible into the pillow before he get out of bed and opens the window.
“You know, you are a real pain in the arse.”, he tells the cat, which jumps down to the floor by his feet. He watches as it saunters around the bed and vanishes behind it before he closes the window and falls back onto the bed. He wants to shake his head at the absurdity of the situation, but doesn’t. Instead he rubs the bridge of his nose and closes his eyes again. Shortly after the cat joins him and curls up at his side, purring as James’s fingers softly stroke its fur.
The cat becomes a regular house guest a James’s flat whenever he is off mission. He likes the company of that purring ball of fur, even though he would never admit to it. It makes his flat feel less empty and so it isn’t all that much of a surprise when James comes home from shopping one day, bringing with him two bowls, cat food, kitty litter and a litter box. He even thought about getting the cat a few toys to play around with, which would hopefully reduce the impending damage to his furniture the cat might inflict.
Q would probably be proud of him, if he knew that he is regularly taking care of cat, what with the love his Quartermaster had for the creatures. But ever since that incident in Medical Q had been rather distant to say the least. They only talked when it was necessary and every peace offering had been ignored. Q had just wave him off or snapped at James to stop bothering him.
He really couldn’t make sense of the Quartermasters behaviour. Once he had tried to talk about the situation, but Q had stormed off, saying that he had better things to do. And nothing had even bloody fucking happened, but still the younger man treated him like he had over stepped a line, offended him or did something he shouldn’t have. Which he, for once, really hadn’t.
James rubbed his hands over his face. Maybe he should talk to Moneypenny. He knew she and the Quartermaster got on well. Maybe he could get her to investigate what had Q’s knickers in a twist.
Only the next time he actually gets to talk to Q, they are thousands of miles apart. Bond has been on the mission for several days now and it’s been a pain in the arse. All he has to do I sit and wait for the mark to show itself and then eliminate it. It’s boring him and his Quartermaster isn’t of much help either, the way he has kept silent since he has come on the comms only minutes ago.
“He shouldn’t have been this long”, Q mutters into his ear as Bond keeps staring at the opposite building, watching out for movement.
“Should I move and track him?”, he asks, eyes still trained on the opposite window. “No, we don’t know where he is. We can’t track him. All we know is that he frequently comes to that flat, so just stay put.” The words are cold and said in a stern voice. The agent sighs, contemplating whether to address Q’s recent behaviour, but by now he’s really had enough of it. He doesn’t even care that their conversation will be taped and archived.
“I’m sorry, okay? Whatever I’ve done I am sorry!” He knew that his voice was slightly edged with anger as he said the word, but he didn’t care. “Oh, really?”, Q drawled and Bond wants to roll his eyes. “Would you shut up? You’ve been this pompous prick ever since that day in Medical. At first I thought you just had a bad day, but I clearly did something that has your knickers in a twist, so either you spit it out now or be bloody well professional about it and don’t treat me like I kicked your fucking cats.” Bond knows that Q is probably fuming at the other end of the line, but what’s out is out. He hears his Quartermaster take a steading breath and the agent imagines Q standing at his workstation, head bowed, hands clenched into fists as he fights for composure so he wouldn’t yell back at Bond.
“Fine”, the younger man breathes and then the silence returns. Bond opens his mouth to ask Q whether he wants to talk about it, but before he even gets to say the words Q says: “No I won’t talk about it. And I swear to god, I will shoot you if you ever mention my cats and the word kicking in one sentence ever again. Are we clear, double-oh-seven?” Well, that is at least a start. “Okay, dully noted.”, Bond responds and the following silence already fells less awkward. Still he wants to fill it and because he has no better idea he asks Q about his cats. This way the time does pass a little fast and Bond learns quite a bit about cats and how to care for them, though he doesn’t mention to the Quartermaster that he has taken in a cat himself.
It takes another six hours till the target is finally down, but Q stays on the comms most of the time. Their conversation is light, but Bond knows that the younger man is slightly opening up again. The banter is still at a minimum, but they are getting there. So he is very pleased, that when he goes down to Q-Branch upon his arrival back in London to hand back all his equipment intact and drop off a hot cup of tea for Q, when he even gets a smile in responds.
He can’t stop frowning about Q’s behaviour though. He just doesn’t get it. None of it. First everything is fine. Then the cold shoulder treatment and then suddenly he concedes and everything seems to be going back to normal. James shakes his head and opens the door to his flat. He shuts the door, hangs up his coat and his eyes instinctively wander over to the window in the living room. And just like always his feline friend is sitting on the windowsill, waiting for him to come home. Only today the cat isn’t alone. Next to it there is a second smaller cat. No, it’s not a cat yet, it’s a kitten. A white kitten dotted with brown, beige and black spots.
“You weren’t supposed to bring your friends along”, James tell the feline when he opens the window to let them both into the flat. The lager feline jumps to the floor, but doesn’t wander off. It just sits there, looking intently at James as if asking why he was looking so glum.
“Oh, don’t look at me like that. I just had a bad day. Days. Weeks maybe? Whatever it doesn’t matter.” He is sure the cat would have raised a questioning eyebrow at him, if it had been capable of doing so. Instead it just looks up at his companion still sitting on the windowsill meowing happily.
The kitten’s landing is a bit clumsy, but the little thing just shakes its head and scratches its ear with its paw, before is follows after his friend. James looks after them as they disappear into the kitchen and there is a smile on his face.
Tabby and Dot, as he starts calling his two houseguest, now that he has to differentiate, stay with him for the entire week he is hauled up in London. By now he knows that he won’t find scratch marks on his furniture when he leaves and he enjoys the company they bring him.
He likes the days he spends lying on his couch with a good book, Dot curled up on his chest and Tabby around his feet.
He most definitely doesn’t think about Q when he looks at the cats or when he strokes Dot curled up on his chest, eyes closed and purring.
He gets send on a mission to Prague and Q is yelling at him over the comms, something he never does, about what a bloody idiot he has been, once again. There are people shooting at him, again. He doesn’t know what to do, again. So it’s all good and normal and the agent is in his element.
He has just taken down the last of his pursuers when another one attacks him and slams him into a concrete pillar. They are at an unfinished construction side up on the buildings third floor and their hand to hand combat his dangerously close to the edge.
Bond receives a good few punches before regaining control of the fight. He has long lost his Walther, Q is furious about it, so he goes for the gun at the other man’s belt. He knows that’s been a bad move before the man even uses the agent’s momentum against him and hauls him around, so that Bond is with his back to the edge. He loses balance when he pulls the gun out of its holster and topples over the edge, arms flailing for milliseconds before he uses the gun in his hand to take out the man, standing at the edge.
He tries twisting around when the shoot went off to somehow fall more controlled, but he doesn’t know how. He can hear Q in his ear, voice calm now as he falls, but he knows Q is actually frantic. He hits the ground with a sickening crunching noise as he lands on his side, arm first and the white hot pain is instant, traveling all along his left arm from his shoulder into his torso, making him see stars.
“Bond, status”, Q demands, voice still calm. The agent can hear the Quartermaster tapping away on his keyboard. Q’s voice and the sounds of the distant clacking of keys clams him a bit, too, but the pain is almost unbearable.
“Still alive”, he says, voice weak and he winces as he tries to shift. “There is definitely something broken. God, that was stupid.”
“Yes, yes it was.”, Q responds, but his voice isn’t stern or judging. “Can you get to your evac point? Can you get up?”, Q asks and Bond can’t hear the clacking of keys anymore. Blackness is circling his vision. “No, I don’t think so. I believe I am on the verge of unconsciousness.” Q chuckles. ”Playing the swooning maiden now, are we Bond?” The agent smiles despite the pain. “Come save me then.” He retours and he knows Q is at least smile a bit by the way he responds. “I will. Better I already have.
There is a medical evac team on the way to your location. They’ll be there in thirty seconds. So do stay awake. James does and then there are people fussing over him. Hauling him away.
Somehow he manages only to dislocate his shoulder instead of breaking it, which is an actual miracle considering the height he has fallen from. Instead he broke his left upper and forearm, which more than makes up for the not broke shoulder.
Dr. Farall assures him that he has been more than lucky, because other than the broken arm, he got away with a few scratches and bruises.
Q drops by once to tell him what an idiot he has been, again. Then he smiles tells him to get better soon and hands him a tablet with the words “So you won’t get bored and get into trouble again” before he leaves.
James is released two days after he returns from his mission and finds Dot and Tabby sitting on his windowsill, waiting for him when he gets home. He lets them in, pets them both as they look at him expectantly and goes to make coffee.
It’s two day later in the late evening, James has just settled on the sofa with his two feline companions, when there is a knock on his door. Dot scrambles off of his chest as he gets up to open the door and Tabby has expectantly put his paws up against the back of the sofa to track James’s movements.
When he opens the door he is greeted by a mob of brown curls. The young man in front of James is fumbling around while asking: “Have you seen my cats?” Then the man looks up and green-grey eyes meet his.
“Q?”
“Bond?”